


the sunlight burning through the loose flags

by missgoalie75



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fix-It, M/M, Post-Season/Series 04 Finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-24
Updated: 2019-05-24
Packaged: 2020-03-14 14:34:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18950065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missgoalie75/pseuds/missgoalie75
Summary: he tries to picture how it'll be, going forward, once he gets out of this fucking bed.| eliot heals.





	the sunlight burning through the loose flags

**Author's Note:**

> **characters/pairings:** eliot, quentin, margo, fen, alice, julia, kady, penny-23, original characters; quentin/eliot, brief eliot/fen (in a platonic way!), margo/josh, brief quentin/alice
> 
>  **spoilers/warnings:** canon divergent from 4x13 b/c fuck you; references to ptsd and suicide (which doesn’t happen in this, obviously), scenes of a sexual nature - one of which involves eliot and fen, an oc has dementia, euthanasia
> 
>  **disclaimer:** recognizable dialogue is from the show. lyrics referenced are not mine. title is from “the lightning strike” by snow patrol.
> 
>  **note:** in terms of the canon divergence: penny-23 used astral projecting, julia chose to be a goddess. quentin does not go to the mirror world - instead, kady goes. as for how time passes in fillory...it doesn’t make sense, so i do what i want, basically.
> 
>  **a/n:** i started writing this a couple of weeks before the finale at a glacial pace, but then the finale happened and spite has always been my number 1 motivator. so, here we are. special thanks to maii for introducing me to this show, even though it dropped the ball in the end, the journey was beautiful (up to a certain point) and now i get to play in a fun, new sandbox.

When Eliot wakes up, it's not his first time.

He waits longer to open his eyes this time, but the lights are still blinding and he can't discern shapes. Noises are too loud and too soft. He tastes pennies and the acid yellow. The sheets scratch under his hands and his muscles are too heavy to move.

It feels like he's been hit by a freight train. His stomach aches sharply, bruised and gouged. There's a constant ache in his right leg.

He makes out Q first. His mouth moves, but sounds don't come out. 

He falls into oblivion again.

**

When Eliot wakes up again, the room doesn't spin, but the lights are still too bright.

It's quiet at least.

He breathes and yep, his stomach still hurts like a motherfucker. 

"Eliot?"

It's Margo. Bambi. He hums to let her know he's awake.

"Thank _Christ_. We were afraid your brain was fucking fried."

It takes him a long time for him to say, "bold of you to assume it already wasn't." He loses his voice at _wasn't_ , but it still makes her laugh.

"I'm so goddamn relieved. Fuck."

Fuck, indeed.

He tries to open his eyes again to look at her and it's worth the effort. His eyes burn. Margo's touch is soft as she brushes tears off his face.

"Are you ready to hear the story of how it happened?" she asks.

He remembers…flashes. Bits. He knows his part in it, forcing the Monster down, down, enough to immobilize him, to have Margo finish the job. What they got him with, he doesn't know.

"I can tell you the backstory first. How I got my ice axes. They're why your stomach probably hurts like a motherfucker."

He looks to the ceiling briefly; there's an effort to smile. "Okay," he says.

He listens to her adventure. The thought of a lizard inducing a hallucination of some fabulous, glam rock version of himself is amusing, but it doesn't translate onto his face. In fact, most of what he's feeling is a little disconnected. 

The only things that really resonates right now are discomfort, pain, and nausea, which is a shitty state of being.

She's showing them off to him and oh, now he sees why his stomach hurts so fucking much. He winces at the flash memory of her swinging one into him. 

"Sorrow and Sorrow?" he questions for the second time.

She smiles and shakes her head. She looks away from him, out toward the door and there's Josh. He waves enthusiastically. Eliot can only lift a few fingers.

"I want to tell you something before I go," Margo says quietly, sitting on the edge of his bed so she's staring down at him.

"What is it?"

She looks to Josh from the corners of her eyes. "Josh and I are boning regularly. And we hold hands. He bakes me shit. Some would say we're a couple."

He finally manages his first smile. "Would _you_ say you're a couple?"

She shuts her eyes as if in pain. "Yes," she begrudgingly admits.

"And you're happy?"

" _Yes_."

"Okay, then."

She exhales. "Okay. Good. I obviously wasn't here for your approval."

"I know."

Her gaze softens. "Get some rest. We have magic back, but it's, well, not reliable – I'll tell you that story later – but your healing is still…ongoing. Something is fucked with your leg."

He hums in amusement. "Does that mean I can finally have my fabulous cane?"

She rolls his eyes. "Since you're actually going to be physically disabled for a period of time? Yes."

It's a scary thought, even though he had practice in his last life as an old man in his early seventies. "No Jason Isaacs comments."

"Only three a day," she promises.

She hums a song he vaguely remembers, but after a few moments with her hand combing through his hair, he falls asleep.

**

The next time Eliot wakes up, Q is there.

It takes him less time to adjust to seeing; it's sundown and everything seems softer.

Q looks tired. His hair is the shortest Eliot's seen it, but he likes it.

Q smiles a little. "Hey."

Eliot swallows, tries to say, "hi," and it comes out more of a croak.

"I know you're on an IV, but here…" Q reaches for something out of Eliot's periphery and reveals a glass of water. He's slow to tilt the glass into Eliot's mouth, but at least he doesn't dribble water all down his front.

"Thank you," Eliot says, his voice sounding somewhat normal, if not gruff.

Q nods and puts the glass back, sitting back down and tucking his hands in between his knees. Eliot smiles.

"Margo said you don't remember much about the showdown," Q says.

"I remember things, but…I don't want to talk about that now," Eliot responds slowly.

"Okay, yeah, I get it –"

"I want to talk about something else."

Q blinks. "Sure. Okay, yeah."

"Penny…told you about the Cottage? In the Monster's head?"

"Yeah, that you were in there gathering information."

"Yes, well…I wasn't doing that the whole time. I didn't realize what was going on in the beginning. That time…when I got out. I don't know how long ago that was – when I spoke with you, that was when I realized."

"How did you get out?" Q asks. 

There's something about the way he asked, how he pressed forward, skirting around what Eliot said. He feels like a seed of foreboding is planted in his chest, which he ignores as he explains the memories. The list on the chalkboard. The memory version of Q with chalk on his chin and Margo. 

That Eliot had to go through his worst memory in order to find the way out.

He feels like he's jumping off an edge where he's misjudged the height, his stomach swooping as he says, "I had to face us. That conversation we had in the throne room. During the quest for the keys."

Q is frozen, his face unreadable. Eliot swallows, his throat sore, but he continues. "I…I was so scared. And overwhelmed. And I should've said anything else other than no. But I've always been a coward and I shut you down. I'm really sorry, Q. For all of it. That moment, every one after, rejecting you. It was selfishly so I couldn't be hurt."

Q still isn't saying anything. The foreboding returns with a vengeance and lingers.

"I promised while I was trapped that I would be braver. And you inspired that, so…I love you. And if you can…forgive my bullshit…maybe we could give it a shot. I would…really like that."

Eliot feels his body flush and yet there's a chill in his chest that he can't shake off. He waits for Q to say something, anything.

"Q?" Eliot prompts.

Q is looking down at his shoes and he seems to be at war with a lot of emotions: heartbreak, fear, anger.

"If you need time, please take it –" Eliot starts, but is interrupted.

"I don't need time. Eliot, you…you really fucking _hurt_ me. It's been _months_ it's been…so long and did you just expect me to be _waiting_ for you after you rejected me over and _over_?"

Eliot's breath hitches in his throat. "I wanted to be honest like I should've been."

"Well _tough shit_." Q shuts his eyes and brings a hand to the bridge of his nose. "I'm sorry. It's just – I'm. I'm with Alice, so. I'm moving on."

…Eliot should've listened to his fucking instincts. He stares up at Q, his jaw set and he's meeting his eyes and oh, well.

Eliot looks away from Q and at the foot of his bed and wonders if he considered this possibility. Maybe, most likely. It's an insecurity that's pretty much a fixture in his psyche when comes to Quentin Coldwater. He can settle for Eliot, but once there's another, better option, Eliot will be left behind. 

"Oh," Eliot manages.

Q chews on his bottom lip. "Yeah, so. Yeah. Sorry." Something catches Q's gaze. "I gotta go, visiting hours are over," he says. "But I'll see you."

Eliot's throat is swollen, so he nods. He expects a touch, but Q keeps his hands to himself as he leaves Eliot, walking out of the infirmary with long, fast strides.

Professor Lipson comes to him and places a hand over his chest, his heart.

"We need to limit your visiting hours if it's going to wear you down faster than we're healing you," she tuts.

He assumes she sedates him, which he is so fucking grateful for.

**

Eliot wakes up in the middle of the night already crying, his heart aching.

Despite scavenging in the Monster's mind, there was something comforting about being able to conjure Q or Margo when he needed it, when he just needed a little fucking peace. Maybe he figured it would be the same when he was free, which was stupid. He can't conjure people he loves and he can't be honest with his emotions without the possibility of receiving a negative reaction.

He tries to picture how it'll be, going forward, once he gets out of this fucking bed. Will Q avoid him like he did with Alice? Will Eliot be like Q in that scenario, trying to make up for everything?

He should do that. He knows he needs to – fight for them since he wasn't willing to before.

He wants to – he wants Q. He can be honest about that now.

But with no one here, when it's just him and no one, nothing else, he finds himself…so fucking tired. 

And it hits him, even though it's really fucking obvious, that Eliot is ridiculously damaged right now and he can't handle this.

Because at the end of the day, he doesn't even feel like he's connected to most aspects of his own body. His mind a jumbled mess and his senses are out of whack. He's still feeling colors and every time Q spoke, it was peaches and plums on his tongue.

So…it's all about Eliot. For now. Right now.

Eliot shuts his eyes and breathes. For the first time, he doesn't feel quite as overwhelmed.

**

The next time he wakes up, he doesn't quite realize he did – he assumes he was staring into space – when he hears, " _Eliot_ ," in a sharp, frantic voice.

Eliot blinks and looks up at Q, who is close and terrified.

"Sorry," Q sighs in pure relief. "You just – you looked like –"

The Monster. He figures this is how identical twins maybe feel in a really fucked up way. Not being the sole owner of a face. 

"Quentin," Eliot greets and Q flinches.

Eliot can't even call his friends by their _fucking names_. "Another Monster thing?" he guesses. He allows himself to feel bitter.

"Yeah."

Eliot looks away from Q's face. "Alright. Q it is."

Quentin sighs. "Thanks."

Eliot nods.

He doesn't know why Quentin's here. He's _that_ good of a friend, Eliot thinks nastily, sadly.

"I'm glad you're here," Eliot starts, even though it's half a lie. "There's something I want to…tell you. Update you."

Quentin furrows his brow. "Okay…"

Eliot reminds himself to be brave, own his feelings, before looking up at Quentin. "I don't know the details of what the fuck is wrong with my body, but it's safe to say I'm not at my best."

"You'll get better," Quentin is quick to say. "You're definitely improving from before."

"Q, please, can I talk?"

Quentin shuts his mouth and nods with a contrite expression.

Eliot swallows. "I'm a hot mess of the worst kind. And I need time to fight for me before I can fight for you. So. Just so you're aware. You know."

Quentin struggles to find words, opening his mouth and closing it. "I, uh –"

"I don't know how long it'll take. I mean, you know mental health issues are a cock, right, so. But once that's settled for the most part, I'm going to be here. So, baby I will wait for you, as my almost namesake Elliott Yamin famously sang in his 2007 one hit wonder, 'Wait for You.'"

Quentin narrows his eyes in thought, whips out his phone, and predictably searches the song, but Eliot hums it and Quentin's eyes light up in recognition. He then furrows his brow again. "You really dug that one up," he says with mild amusement. 

"I was stuck in the recesses of my mind for months. Some gems were unearthed."

Q smiles, huffs a laugh under his breath.

Eliot winces, brings a hand to his chest, over his heart. "That might be a doorknob confession, as the therapists call it."

Quentin looks confused – taken aback, really. Eliot hates that there are tears leaking from his eyes; he can't even control how his body regulates emotions.

"Why is that a 'doorknob confession'?"

"Because in a typical doorknob confession, one would leave immediately afterwards. But given that I have very little control of my body and I feel like my heart is going to explode, I'm simply going to pass out."

Quentin's eyes bug out in alarm. " _Eliot_ –"

And he's out.

**

The final time he wakes up in this fucking bed, there's Fen.

He smiles at her. "Hi, Wifey."

She bursts into tears. And she's hugging him. Or really draping her body over his and patting his head, which is nice, honestly. She smells of home – Fillory. 

"Fen," he says softly. "Tell me about Fillory."

She pulls back and rests her hands on his chest, over his heart. Then his stomach, over his wound, her touch featherlight. He's afraid to see what it looks like.

She tries to smile. "Well, you'll see it for yourself today. You're coming back with me."

He furrows his brow. "Why?"

She swallows. "The magic here isn't reliable enough to heal you. I'm taking you to Chatwin's Torrent and the centaurs."

"Fen –"

"No arguments. My heart can't take it and yours certainly can't."

The way she says it makes him pause. But it makes sense – he can feel it, how worn down it is. It's almost like when he was old in that other lifetime, but worse, more painful, not right. "I guess it can't."

(There was something romantic in his original assumption that Q has literally broken his heart.)

She pulls away from him fully, holding out her hands for him to take. "We're going to be leaving in an hour."

"We?"

"You, me, Margo, and Josh."

He smiles a little. "Okay."

Before they leave, however, the gang's all here to say farewell, at least for now. Penny-23 is brief with his goodbye. Kady and Alice come in together, but they're quick too. Julia comes alone and unexpectedly.

At some point while Eliot was out of commission, Julia was upgraded to a goddess again, so he's only a little put off by her vacant expression. She steps forward and gives Eliot a letter, the envelope with a block letter 'E.'

"Q's alright. He wanted you to have this," she explains, her voice low and soft.

Eliot brings the envelope to his chest and mentally begs her for more information. She eventually cracks.

"He'll be okay," she insists.

He swallows and nods.

Julia remains in the room while healers go through a series of tests. He's sure he could or should be doing better than he is. He almost asks Julia if she can fix him, but figured she would've done it by now without his inquiring. 

Once he's finally alone, he opens the envelope and is reassured by Q's narrow scrawl across notebook paper.

_Dear Eliot –_

_I'm okay, first off. Or, well, I will be. What you said about needing to fight for you made me realize that I should do the same. I've been going and going nonstop with the singular focus of getting you back that I've been ignoring my mental health. Shocker. So, yeah, now that I have a minute to think about it, I'm decidedly not okay. So I'm checking myself in. Maybe getting back on my meds. Dean Fogg suggested when I first enrolled into Brakebills that I didn't need it, that I wasn't depressed, but we both know that's bullshit._

_Good luck with your journey – I'll meet you again at some point down the Road of Recovery, or whatever the fuck we want to call it._

_All my love,_  
Q  
  
Eliot takes a long breath. He wishes he could write a letter back, but he trusts that they'll see each other soon enough.

When he looks up, he sees Fen, Margo, and Josh, all carrying luggage.

"Ready?" Margo asks.

Eliot nods. He can sit up, but it takes Fen and Margo on either side of him to lift him to his feet, Josh hovering over them all.

"Do I get my cane?" Eliot asks.

Josh points to the doorway, where there's a black cane with a silver head resting.

" _Yes._ "

**

When they arrive in Fillory, that first breath of air is so intoxicating, literally so, that he loses whatever strength he has in standing up, so Fen and Margo are left to carry him.

"Sorry," he says.

"We should've figured," Margo says through gritted teeth.

There's a carriage waiting, at least. He felt bad enough having them carry his weight even if he is at his thinnest.

He's lulled to sleep quickly – the opiates in the air and his exhaustion taking a few steps on his own overwhelming him. By the time he wakes up, they're there.

He's led to the Torrent and there's the man who fucked their Penny over with his hands. He bows repeatedly at Fen and gestures for Eliot go in. He's recommended to be stripped down and Margo has curse words on the tip of her tongue, but he doesn't see the point. He's barely wearing anything and it's easy to dissociate, mentally hover over his body as he wads into the water and sinks below the surface.

Once upon a time he thought Chatwin's Torrent would fix his brain. His darkest thought was that he'd go in and he'd emerge straight. Most of the time he hoped it would soften memories of childhood, maybe even erase them, or turn them into leaves to float downstream to be lost forever.

There's no sound under water – just a comforting pressure around him. He feels it permeate his skin – wash through his muscles, bones, flooding his heart. He wonders what would happen if he inhaled.

But he doesn't – he breaks the surface and actually, for the first time since being properly conscious, he almost recognizes his body, himself. He doesn't have to think about it until the feeling fades.

He swallows the water left in his mouth and it soothes his ragged throat.

"How do you feel?" Margo asks.

Is he better? Technically, yes. He doesn't feel like he's going to faint, at any rate. But there's only so much a healing river is going to fix the shit he went through. 

"I'll need a haircut next," he says.

Margo grins. "That I can do."

Fen, of course, whips out a lot of knives with a large smile.

So, they shear his hair as part of a tag team. When he gets a look at himself, he thinks of when he was just starting his second year at Brakebills. He wants to throw up. But it's the most Eliot Waugh he's looked in a long time, so he tells them with all his fucking heart that he loves it.

**

Fen has brought him three outfits to choose from, which she shows off with a beaming smile, full of pride. He kisses her on the corner of her mouth out of sheer gratitude. The fabric is a little looser than he would like, but it's much snugger than what he was wearing before and the feeling of the scarf under his fingers is rich and luxurious.

"Now that's more like it," Margo says, nodding in approval.

Yeah, that's more like it. Even the cane adds something to the picture.

(Except when he arrives at Whitespire and checks himself in the mirror, he wants to break it – at least then there would be a fucking reason why he wouldn't recognize himself in the motherfucking reflection.)

**

He has to be woken up the next day to begin the journey north to the Retreat. He can walk on his own for the most part, but he quickly realizes the aesthetic of a cane is not worth it, so he's hoping that the centaurs can speed whatever healing process he needs to be able to walk unaided.

Fen stays at Whitespire with Josh. Margo accompanies him with a letter stamped with Fen's royal crest. Margo attempts a conversation, but Eliot is lulled to sleep rather quickly.

She gently shakes him awake when they arrive.

"You're the worst. Do you know how boring it is riding without music or anyone to talk to?" she grumbles, but she holds him steady with strong arms, helping him out of the carriage and immediately looping his free arm with hers. 

He's stared at a lot by centaurs. Poked a bit as well. He's told to strip to his boxer briefs and the process begins again. Margo begins pacing around until she finally cracks and demands them to give them a summary, ASAP. 

Like everything else in his life, he has to be worked on slowly, encouraging his own natural healing abilities and his magic to do the work since that's the safest way - after all, he hasn't died yet, right?

"Am I going back into a coma?" Eliot asks, almost hopeful. Margo shoots him a withering glare. 

(He doesn't have the heart to insist that this is the better coping skill he can utilize: _be unconscious and you don't have to relive half the shit you got glimpses of while your body was taken over!)_

 __Unfortunately, he'll be woken up daily for monitoring and then promptly put under again. Not too bad, considering.

"How long do you think it'll be?"

They'll discuss after a week. 

"Bambi, you don't have to stay."

"I don't like leaving you here alone."

"I'm going to be out the entire time. Come back in a week," Eliot insists gently. "Go back to Whitespire and help Fen. You'll be properly appreciated there."

She bites her bottom lip, but he knows she's convinced. "Send bunnies if necessary," she threatens. 

"I promise."

And once she gives him a fond kiss goodbye, he lies down and falls into a deep sleep.

**

At least when he's woken up by centaurs, it's in a peaceful, slow way. They don't speak to him beyond gesturing him to lift his arms (not too bad), twist his torso (definitely a _no_ ), walk a few feet forward unassisted (not that great - why nobody can give him a straight answer about his fucking leg is annoying).

He's put under again and the process begins again. And again. And again. 

On the fourth day, he's surprised to wake up to Julia and Alice staring over him. 

"Hello," Julia greets him. She tilts her head to the side, surveying him. "Almost god-touched," she murmurs. 

Eliot looks to Alice. Her dress is short, but definitely fifties-inspired; she's wearing oxford heels, no bold red lipstick and no change in eyewear, so she's still mostly herself. She's carrying a giant scroll. 

"I'm right," Alice says, looking away from Eliot and staring at Julia. 

Julia only hums and lifts a hand, her fingers moving as if she's waving, but she's lost in thought. 

"Julia," Alice says. 

"What's going on?" Eliot asks, sitting up. "In layman's terms," he quickly adds because he's getting unnerved by Julia's glowing eyes. 

"Basically, Julia wasn't sure how to heal you. Since I've been helping the Library rebuild, the Binder has been gracious in helping me translate things I didn't learn as a niffin. We found this hidden in the Poison Room. A one shot chance of using someone's own magic to heal themselves. We can potentially trigger your magic to expand. Think of it as giving it a shot of adrenaline."

"Okay, so what's wrong with this idea?"

"We're not sure how it's going to react against whatever residue the Monster left in you. _If_ there's residue. I think it'll be fine since it's your magic, we're just giving it a boost."

"And Julia is hesitant because…"

"The magic of a goddess may aggravate you given the Monster's intrinsic hatred of gods and goddesses. _If_ there's residue."

"You're a new goddess though, your magic would be unrecognizable," Alice argues, clearly frustrated with this conversation. She looks imploringly at Eliot. "I know I'm right. This will work."

Eliot doesn't trust Alice's motives, not after what she did with the keys. But Eliot knows out of everyone in their motley crew, nobody knows nearly as much magic as Alice Quinn does, and she does love proving everyone and herself right.

"Julia," Eliot says slowly, eyes sliding from Alice to Julia. "You might need to wing it."

For a second, it's a human Julia smirking at him before gesturing for him to lie down again. She places a hand on his forehead, brushing his hair back, and a hand over his stomach wound. He flinched automatically, but there's no sharp pain, just mild discomfort. 

"Brace yourself," is the warning he gets before he feels tendrils of heat snake through his wound. 

It's strange, feeling the essence of Julia in his system, until it becomes _really_ fucking weird when she touches _something_ in his core. 

"This feels really weird," he says tightly. 

"What do you feel?" Alice asks, her face close enough that he can see his terrible reflection in her glasses. He's not sure if she's more concerned or curious. 

He struggles to formulate words. "Like I'm barely holding my body together."

Alice thinks quickly. "I'm going to partially sedate you, it should feel like laughing gas, okay?" She doesn't wait for him to confirm before she's gripping his right arm, one palm flat over the crook of his elbow. She's muttering an incantation, fingers moving against his skin and oh, yes, that's so much better -

He sighs and his body relaxes.

Sometime during his first month at Brakebills, he smoked something that gave him the strongest high he ever had. He didn't really like the feeling - it was almost as if he was on the precipice of a bad trip - but he remembers having a conversation with a strange woman a year above him. She explained that magic was intrinsic, threaded in every aspect of the human body and soul - magic wasn't nestled in their chest or heart or stomach like a ball of light or a stone. 

She was totally _fucking wrong._

He sits up and gasps, putting his hands over Julia's on his stomach, afraid that everything would escape. 

"Whoa," Alice says, blinking owlishly at him. 

"What?"

"Your eyes…" she trails off. 

Julia glances up at him and smiles. "Looks good. We can let go of him, Alice."

Alice pauses and Eliot bites back his hesitation, but they eventually remove their hands from his body and nothing changes, just - he feels like he's containing lightning. 

He feels...powerful. 

"Fuck," he exhales. 

Alice pulls out a compact mirror and oh, yeah, he looks god-touched with a ring of gold around his pupils like Julia's. 

It's almost like the Torrent, how he can feel his body healing, but it's better, a lot better. 

(No wonder Julia chose to be a goddess - there's has to be a level of selfishness in wanting that power.)

He shuts his eyes and focuses on breathing. He overhears Julia and Alice talk about how long the spell will last. Eliot begins humming "Hello, It's Me," which he hadn't thought of in so fucking long, but he does have such a rare, fond memory sitting next to his daddy on the front porch, the local classic rock station playing this song, a strange pang in his chest when he hears the lyric _maybe I shouldn't think of you as mine_.

The magic adrenaline or whatever they're going to call it starts to fade, inevitably. He opens his eyes at some point and stares up at the night sky. 

"Eliot, do you want to try standing?"

He blinks and wordlessly swings his legs over the edge of his bed, making sure he's gripping it tightly when he slowly brings his feet to the grass. He expects the usual shot of pain up his leg, but nothing happens. 

He grins and takes a few tentative steps forward. Still nothing. 

"I feel like myself," he says, almost giddy. 

"You're almost healed," Julia agrees slowly. 

"There's a but in there and not the good kind."

"You still have more to heal, and you may have flare ups."

"Will I fully recover?"

Julia shrugs in a surprisingly human gesture. "Maybe, maybe not. You're a powerful magician in your own right. You may be able to. We'll have to see when you inevitably reach a plateau."

Eliot twirls in place. "Okay. I can work with that."

Julia walks over to him.

"How's Q?" he asks quietly. 

"He's getting better."

He nods. "Good, I…I don't know if it's okay to relay messages, but...if you get a chance...can you tell him I said thank you? I don't think I said it before. For bringing me back."

 _I love you_ , the thought automatic and an ache. 

She smiles slowly. "Yes. Do you also want me to tell him that as well?"

He swallows and hates how his eyes sting. "That's alright, maybe sign off the message with 'all my love.'"

Julia brings a hand to his face. She doesn't say anything, but she soothes his racing thoughts. "Margo and Penny-23 will get you tomorrow."

He raises an eyebrow. "You can see into the future now?"

"No, I'm telling the centaurs what we've done and they'll discharge you. I will inform Margo and she will borrow Penny since she won't want to occupy another carriage with you until she's convinced you can remain awake for most of it." She blinks. "I know you all and I'm a little omniscient," she explains. 

"Got it."

He has to go through the same series of tests anyway with the centaurs and he falls asleep without the typical dread he's carried about waking up the next day.

**

Margo and Penny arrive bright and early. Eliot thanks the centaurs profusely and Margo gives a large bag filled with something that looks like weed, but Eliot is assuming has some healing value that the centaurs need. Or maybe centaurs want to unwind sometimes, who knows.

Eliot moves his body carefully - now that he's gone a significant amount of time without experiencing pain, he's not keen on it coming back. 

"Can I chuck this fucking thing now?" Margo asks, holding his cane. 

"No, I may need it. Julia said something about flare ups. I'll probably have good and bad days for a while."

She purses her mouth, but she's concerned. 

He smiles at her. "I'll be alright. Just don't throw the cane out. I promise to give you the honors when the time comes."

"Good."

Penny takes them to Whitespire. He mutters something about being owed and leaves them alone. 

"Alright, so. What would you like to do?" Margo asks, crossing her arms. "I won't force you into politics if you don't want. I think you've earned a free pass to do whatever the fuck you want for a while."

Fillory politics seem like a good way to properly distract him, but he says, "I'll think on it. I'm going to go for a walk. I'll be fine." He holds his hand out for the cane. 

She hesitates for a moment before giving it back. "If you wander outside, let someone know. Just in case."

He brings the top of the cane gently under Margo's chin and gives her a loving tap. "I will. Enjoy ruling."

She smiles a little too genuinely for what the moment calls for, but soon enough it won't feel like every moment is incredibly sacred. 

He walks around to reacquaint himself. Staff bow and greet him, which is nice, but he also wondered how much threatening was done about that. He bumps into Fen at one point, who loops an arm through his and joins his walk. 

"Sorry I'm walking so slowly," Eliot says. 

"It's alright, I'm noticing things I never noticed before." She wrinkles her nose. "We definitely need to get rid of that tapestry - do you see that thing in the corner?"

He follows her pointed finger and grimaces. "Is that dried vomit?"

She scowls, which makes him smile. She looks so cute when she's pissed - very much akin to a kitten. 

"Let's go outside," he suggests after noting a fourth piece of art that needs to be altered or burned for being hideous. 

So they walk around the grounds. He never had the time to do so - he only noted a difference when magic was gone, how dull the flora were in comparison to before. Now that magic has come back in a big way, things are looking a little...unruly. 

"How would you feel about some landscaping?" 

She looks up at him. 

"You know...maintain our plants. Maybe move some around. I have some ideas."

She blinks. "We can arrange that!" she says in a chipper tone.

And so, she does. She arranges him to meet the Royal Botanist – or the Fillorian one, anyway, since Josh only cares about plants that alter the senses – and he sketches designs that would put monarchs on Earth to shame.

(At one point, he finds himself drawing mosaics and he has it rip the parchment to shreds to erase the evidence of a life that's so precious to him, he can't speak of it.)

"What do you think?" Eliot asks Fen since she's High King and even though he has impeccable taste, he wants her to approve.

"I love it," she says, like she means it.

"Thank you, Fen."

She brings a hand to his hair, playing with curls. "I love you," she says. "And I want you to be happy."

His smile is pained. "Can I do something for you in return for housing a former High King and letting him completely change the castle grounds?"

Fen sighs. "Next time you go to Earth, bring back some Butterfingers?"

"I don't know when that will be, if I'm being honest," he says.

He's scared to go back right now. He doesn't know how he can feel like Eliot Waugh on Earth anymore. Here, in Fillory, he feels like if he works hard enough, he might be able to grasp a ghost of himself, still lurking around the castle, in the woods.

"Do you want to have sex?" he offers.

She looks at him with wide eyes. "If you're sure."

He is, oddly enough.

"Remember, Thai food," he says to her.

He loves that she remembers. She nods solemnly.

**

…Here's the thing.

Here's the fucking thing.

He identifies as gay – he's always been attracted to men. Every once in a while, he doesn't mind touching breasts and sliding fingers against hot, wet skin, admiring the beauty in the way a woman's body arches when aroused.

He feels something, anyway. Sometimes.

He figures out early on that something is Not Quite Right and he doesn't want to try to figure it out now, guilt Fen to put in the effort to arouse him, so he says he wants to focus on her, hands and lips making their way down –

He takes his time, liking the way Fen grounds him more than anything else, even if his cock is soft between his legs. The way her breath hitches in her throat when he slips a second finger inside her, crooking them just so, his tongue flicking against her clit. He likes reading her body language, how her fingers gripping his hair, forcing him closer means she's near orgasming.

He also enjoys the fact that the refractory period is nonexistent, so he doesn't have to stop for a while.

Eventually, she pats his shoulder when he's breathing heavy, resting his head against her thigh.

"Come up," she says in between breaths.

He comes up and wipes his lips against the back of his hand before collapsing next to her. She turns to face him and pecks his mouth.

"While I appreciated the…amazing orgasms…are you sure you're okay?" Her eyes flicker down and he wishes he kept his underwear on, at least.

"I think I need a little more time getting used to…inhabiting my body."

She furrows her brow; he said something wrong. "Okay. Well. I know I'm not your first choice when it comes to this, but I owe you at least like, three handjobs. Or one blowjob."

"What?" he asks, amused.

She scoffs. "Blowjobs are a lot more work than handjobs."

"Agreed, but I gave you four orgasms," he points out.

"Objectively, it's easier to give oral pleasure to a person with a clitoris than it is to a penis," she states. "You can't choke from the former."

He laughs and for now, that's more than enough.

He holds her close and his hand by her hip brushes past stretch marks. He remembers touching Arielle's in a hot, sharp moment. Arielle's back resting against his chest, his mouth on her neck as Q ate her out. She still wasn't ready for sex, but she wanted to feel good a few weeks after Teddy's birth. 

"Can I tell you something I haven't told anyone else?" he asks, his voice small to his own ears.

She hums.

"When we were collecting keys for the quest, Quentin and I…we had to go to a mosaic about a day's travel from here. The legend was, you solve the beauty of life, you got the key."

She nods.

"We thought it wouldn't take long, but…soon it became two weeks, then a few months, a year, ten, fifty…"

She freezes under his touch.

"He had a wife," Eliot continues, still stroking. "I couldn't take her in return because, well, you, but we were a family. We had a son, Teddy." 

The tears are instant and he's not able to keep them at bay. "I didn't understand what you were going through, Fen, not really, and then when we found out Arielle was pregnant, I couldn't stop fucking crying about our daughter and Fray and -" He inhales sharply and rests his forehead against her temple. "I'm just so, so sorry."

He feels her bring a hand to his face, pushing curls back and wiping his tears away. 

"Can you tell me about your son?" she asks gently.

If it were anyone else, he wouldn't, but for her, he recounts Teddy's birth. How he went without sleep for so long and got shadows under his eyes that never did fade. Children make you worry all the time and you lose sleep over them always. 

She nods and listens. Laughs. Tears up when Eliot describes Teddy's wedding to a spitfire named Lily. It was the first time he thought of Instagram in a long time and tried to figure out a hashtag for the bride and groom (he was rusty and couldn't manage, but now he tries to come up with one and lands on the vaguely dirty sounding #TeddyColdwaughtersLily or #TeddyColdwedsLily). He cries more. He misses his son and his daughter-in-law and his stunning, wonderful granddaughters and grandson. 

Fen cries with him, which makes him feel less alone.

**

In the morning, he wakes up with his head on her chest, her hand combing through his hair.

"What would you like to be – High Queen, or a king?" she asks him.

He smiles and kisses her chest, over her heart. "I think Margo would be very upset if she wasn't High again."

Her chest vibrates with laughter underneath his cheek. "King it is." She continues to pet him. "It can wait. Maybe in the fall. We have a spring festival to prepare for soon enough."

"Thank you," he says.

**

(He tries to masturbate twice that night and…nothing. He tries to forget his dick's dual purpose for the time being.)

**

Eliot has gotten used to waking up in his room to find Margo there, but sometimes he's a little tired of it.

"Q's back," Margo states without preamble.

"He's…out of the hospital?" Eliot ventures.

"Yes, out of the hospital, in Fillory."

"Wait, what?"

"Yeah, we're all a little surprised there. Something about reconciling shit. I wasn't paying attention." 

He sits up in bed and feels a twinge of soreness in his stomach. "Ah well, it was a good stretch," he sighs, taking his time to get out of bed and stand. Thankfully his leg seems to be alright, but he takes his time getting dressed and is sure to take his cane with him as they leave to eat breakfast. 

The crew is already at the dining table, eating and drinking and engaged in various activities: Kady is cataloging something in her phone and she has a pile of junk next to a bowl of rolls; Penny-23 is arguing with Josh about the quality of one waffle versus another. Alice has a stack of three books on the table, but she's speaking with Quentin quietly.

_Oh, Q._

Quentin looks up and smiles brightly at Eliot.

"Welcome back," Eliot greets him.

He's torn on what to feel when Quentin doesn't get up to hug him, but he's here and happy and that's enough for now. 

He lets Margo lead him down the table and he takes the seat across from Quentin. 

"You look so much better," Quentin says with such relief that Eliot doesn't have the heart to go into details of his inconsistent health. 

"Chatwin's Torrent plus centaurs plus a hit of magic adrenaline," he explains, probably unnecessarily. "Thank you," he adds, looking to Alice. 

She smiles a little. "You're welcome. It's good to see you on your feet."

Margo hits her fork against her glass to get everyone's attention. "So, the gang is almost here, save for Our Lady Underground, Redux -" Julia promptly shows up behind Quentin. "Glad you can join us - anyway, I was thinking we need a fucking party, so I'm thinking we package it with the spring festival. Rebirth, starting anew, eccetera. Thoughts?"

"Rhetorical?" Quentin says, tilting his head. 

"Yes."

"Wonderful, I'm in."

"Yes! I have so many things to try to make!" Josh exclaims from the other end of the table. 

Margo grins conspiratorially at Eliot and he tries to meet it.

**

Eliot tries to immerse himself into the planning of the spring festival/celebration/yay, we're all still alive rager, but he finds he's playing a part more than anything else. It's an expectation that he's to revel in it, but instead he's just…tolerating it.

Eliot stops smiling the moment he's finished speaking with the tailor. He's holding two different fabrics that his suit is supposed to be made from and he's debating if he cares about either of them.

While he's standing in the corridor, holding up the fabrics in the light, he hears footsteps from around the corner, belonging to Quentin and Alice. They're holding hands.

Eliot distantly wonders, for a wild moment, if Quentin said anything to her about them. Probably not. He focuses back on the fabrics.

"Perfect timing, I could use your opinion," he says. "I'm not sure which would be best for me to wear to the festival."

"You really want our opinion?" Alice asks, curious, walking over to him. "Is this where you ask for our preference and we give it and then you go against it because we have poor taste?"

The corner of his mouth twitches. "Maybe. It depends."

One of the fabrics is almost watermelon in color while the other is crisp green. He might've enjoyed wearing the pink before…maybe he'll choose that.

"Well, the pink is, uh, loud. Very you, in a good way," Alice stutters, looking to Quentin to backup. "And the green, well…you always look good in green."

"Thank you. I'm afraid that doesn't help me," Eliot says.

Alice smiles sheepishly. "Yeah, I guess not."

Eliot risks a glance at Quentin, who seems torn. "Q?"

Eliot is starting to favor the green – he shouldn't be trying to upstage the High King and Queen (he'll need to see what Fen will be wearing, that's next on his to-do list) and Alice has a point: he does look good in green. It goes with his eyes well.

…And Quentin would know that.

"The pink would be on point. Very festive," Q states.

It's fucking _juvenile_ to put so much weight in this, but he does. He's tempted to say, _green it is_ , and make sure he's fucking flawless at the festival. Flaunting, being social, charming everyone, maybe even make out with someone at the end of the night.

The festival isn't for another two weeks and he can't muster it.

"You're right, it is festive," Eliot agrees.

It's, somehow, apparently, the wrong thing to say because Quentin purses his mouth. Eliot knows this face, it's the 'the space needs to be cleared so I can ream you out and the quicker you do it, maybe I won't be as harsh.'

(Living fifty years with someone really makes you know a person so damn well.)

Eliot thinks on his feet. "I need to borrow Q, actually, if you don't mind –"

"Oh, great, I was hoping to research!" Alice says with a happy smile. "Have fun!" She quickly walks away.

Eliot and Quentin stare after her. 

"That was easier than I thought," Eliot murmurs.

"What are you doing, Eliot?" Quentin asks, tired.

"Honestly?"

Quentin raises his eyebrows and crosses his arms over his chest.

"Trying to remember how I used to be, even if it means like I'm in a fucking play reciting a tired script."

Quentin's face softens. "You know you look best in green."

"Of course I know that," Eliot scoffs. 

"Then why did you agree to the pink?"

Because he's tired. Because he doesn't want to hurt anyone, including himself. "Because…I thought about wearing the green, looking fabulous and hoping to make you jealous and it…sounded exhausting."

Quentin exhales in disbelief. _Shit._ "Glad to know it's _exhausting_ – the very _thought_ of trying to win me over is exhausting."

"That's not what I meant," Eliot is quick to interrupt. "I'm sorry, that was…that was a terrible thing to say. It was selfish. You don't need to know every thought or feeling that I'm going through. It's not fair."

Eliot forces himself to meet Quentin's gaze, even though he feels cut down and embarrassed and he just wants to hide under his bed.

Quentin looks frustrated. "You're right. It's not. You're not the only one who went through shit over the last few months."

 _I can't even call you by your fucking name_. 

Eliot nods. "I'll do better about…regulating myself. Pinky-swear."

He holds up the green fabric to Quentin's chest.

"This will look nice on you. The pink maybe Alice would like as a sash or kimono-inspired piece. I'll speak to the tailor about it. You can be coordinated, like a watermelon and vine."

Quentin looks down at this chest, feels the fabric with his palm, and nods.

"Great. You can keep these and show Alice. I'm going to track the tailor down to find other suitable options for me. Excuse me."

Eliot leaves, walks down a few corridors, pretending to search for the tailor, but just ends up in his room.

He has to start being brave at some point, even if it means dealing with the one you love being with someone else. He can do that before he peacocks around, reminding Quentin what he's missing.

Maybe.

**

The spring festival sprawls inside the castle and outside. The music is loud and upbeat and there's plenty of food and _plenty_ of alcohol. The gardens outside are not close to being done, but he's complimented by what's already there.

(His cane rests against the corner of the room, forgotten once he's had a few drinks - his leg was bothering him the whole day, so it's nice to be numb to it.)

He wears a blue suit the color of a cloudless midday sky and he dances with Fen and Margo, then Margo and Josh at the same time, which only happens when he nibbles on some biscuit that makes him soar.

At one point, pleasantly intoxicated, lounging on a chair, Alice gracelessly plops herself next to him. Her smile is wide and her cheeks are flushed.

"Hi, El." She giggles. " _Hi_ el."

He smiles. "Hi, Alice. How are you doing?"

"I'm _so_ good," she answers. "And you? You're good?"

"I'm good," he confirms, happy that it's not a lie.

"Good. I want you to be good. I know it took me, like, _ages_ to feel better after being a niffin. Being more than your body can handle."

Eliot pauses. "Yes," he agrees.

"You experience the world and do the worst things and…it's a lot. It's so much. But you're so strong, Eliot, and amazing. I'm not worried _at all_."

Eliot hides his watery eyes by kissing the crown of Alice's head. "Thank you, Alice Quinn."

She looks up at him with a wide, pretty smile. 

This was another reason why he didn't want to try seducing Quentin, something he couldn't articulate on the spot: it would hurt Alice. And he made a promise.

He finds Quentin easily in the bustle of people in front of them. Quentin meets Eliot's eyes and smiles broadly, waving like an idiot.

"I think Q wants you on the dancefloor," Eliot says, nudging Alice.

"Dancing!" Alice repeats, stumbling to her feet. "Do y'wanna dance?"

No. "Yes," he says, leaving his drink behind and following Alice toward Quentin with a wince - the pain is leg is starting to come back.

"We're dancing," she announces, grabbing both of their hands.

It's hard to touch Quentin in any capacity, but he powers through it because he's never seen Alice so relaxed and happy. Quentin is almost on her level, so when Eliot spins and Alice spins into Quentin, pressing up against him, Eliot pats them both on the head and wishes them a good night before gracefully weaving his way through the crowd as best he can with his bad leg.

Margo grabs him by the wrist on his way.

"Going upstairs - my leg is starting to hurt," Eliot says.

Margo nods and pulls him close to kiss him wetly on the cheek before letting him go.

Eliot grabs a bottle of wine on his way out along with his cane.

As the sounds of the party fade away, Eliot exhales. The event is a success, which is good. Even if he's not much of a ruler, the least he can be known for is throwing an excellent soiree in any universe he inhabits.

He abandons a few layers so he's left in a gauzy shirt half opened as he sips his bottle of wine on his balcony with his leg propped up. He's never been one for the outdoors, but ever since living a distant lifetime here, he's come to appreciate it.

He reaches into the pocket of his pants to find some cigarettes, but he pauses when he hears Margo and whom he assumes to be Josh entering his room.

" _Eliot_ ," Margo says, a little drunk, but not bad. "Want some company?"

Eliot wets his bottom lip. They might be drunk enough not to notice his problem, but he doesn't want to risk it. Besides, when he thinks about it for longer than a second, he's not in the mood. Shit.

"I'll take a raincheck. You kids have fun," Eliot says, taking a sip of wine and shutting his eyes for a little while.

When he opens them again, Margo is sitting next to him.

"I didn't say 'I have alternate plans,'" he points out.

"Yeah, but you might as well have. Talk," she responds, taking the wine from him.

There's no use in arguing with her, so he sighs, relying on his being pleasantly intoxicated to say, "I'm figuring out if my dick is broken, if my libido was taken by the Monster, or if it drowned in the Torrent as extra payment."

Margo is appropriately, thankfully, serious. "You haven't orgasmed _once_?"

Eliot shakes his head, taking the wine back.

" _Fuck_ , Eliot."

He hums in agreement. "You really don't need to be celibate on my behalf."

"There are plenty of times for me to fuck Josh. I'd rather be with you on this bitching balcony and drinking this wine that's actually good."

Eliot smiles. "I planted these grapes."

"No shit."

They're almost done with the bottle when someone opens his bedroom doors.

"I come bringing food," Josh says. "Lemon bars and scalloped potatoes."

Eliot looks to Margo, who shrugs with a smile. "I didn't say anything."

"If you think I don't obsessively pay attention to what you guys enjoy when I bake shit, you're…well. That would be a normal assumption, honestly. But I do. I know you prefer things that are tart." Josh walks into the balcony and offers the tray in his right hand to Eliot, who takes a corner piece of a lemon bar.

It's sharp and little sweet and the crust crumbles in his mouth. "This is heavenly, Josh," he tells him.

Josh preens. "Well, I wanted to provide sustenance since that's important, I'll leave you –"

"You can stay, if you like," Eliot offers, shooting Margo a quick smile.

Margo smiles back, softly.

"We were talking about potentially have a spring brunch," Eliot lies. 

"Yeah, that'll work, I have some ideas," Josh says at once.

They eat until they become drowsy, when the festival starts to die down and the sky starts to get a little lighter. Margo rests in the middle of the bed, Josh and Eliot on either side of her and Margo's content, happy face is the highlight of the entire night.

**

Eliot is the first to rise along with the sun. He feels decent, especially considering this was his first time consuming a good amount of alcohol and drugs.

Oh, _shit_ , maybe he's like…responsible. Gross.

Eliot quietly peels himself away from Margo and begins the process of undressing out of his sweaty, dirty clothes and washing up for the day.

He's always liked to keep himself clean and well groomed, but after that Monster was dressing him like a fucking idiot and messed his hair up to the point that it _still_ doesn't feel right, weeks after the fact, he's been diagnosable.

He's rough when he scrubs shampoo and conditioner and he doesn't bother trying to rub one out, even though he used to like having an orgasm in the morning when he had the time.

He dries himself quickly and throws on shorts he hasn't worn in over a year and something that's supposed to be Fillorian's answer to a crew neck. He peeks out of the bathroom and thankfully, Margo and Josh are still asleep, but Margo has already plastered herself against Josh's side, so it's only a matter of time.

He takes the tray of lemon bars that were so lovingly preserved before they fell asleep. He leaves two for them before stepping outside.

He hums as he bites into a lemon bar. Penny-23 and Kady and Julia are staying in the same room more on the east side of the castle – Eliot isn't really sure what's going on there, but he's always appreciated a pretty polyamorous relationship. 

So, that leaves –

Quentin's room.

He knocks a little jingle against the door. "Avon calling!" he sing-songs, even though he's not sure they'll get the reference. Quentin, maybe. He seems like he would've at least been a fan of _Edward Scissorhands_ prior to the reveal of Johnny Depp being an abusive dick.

"Hold on," Quentin groans.

Eliot hums under his breath so he doesn't have time to think of what's occurring on the other side of the door. Quentin opens the door, eyes squinting and his hair a mess. Eliot's heart aches, but pauses when he sees marks on his chest, by his collarbone in the opening of his shirt he haphazardly threw on.

Eliot offers the tray of lemon bars. "Courtesy of Josh. Also, there will be brunch of the boozy variety later this morning, so do be prepared."

Quentin takes two lemon bars. "Will do. Thanks."

Eliot nods. "I'll see you later."

(He maybe spends a minute collecting himself, fighting back nausea, before continuing on gifting people Josh's lemon bars. Only one person vomits on the spot, which must mean that not enough people went hard last night.)

**

Eliot goes back to his room and his timing is impeccable – Margo and Josh are post-coital cuddling. He reminds Josh of their discussion last night about brunch and Josh is rushing through putting on his clothes from last night and Margo is left pouting.

"Oh, come on, at least you got an orgasm this morning," Eliot scoffs.

"Two," she allows.

"Good boy."

"Mhm."

Eliot smiles.

Margo runs her teeth over her bottom lip. "El."

"Yes?"

She sighs. Rolls her eyes. Fuck. "I…couldn't help but notice. Last night." She winces. "You…looking at Q."

"Well I did share a dance with him and Alice," he's quick to answer.

"Don't play dumb," she says, not unkindly. "What's going on?"

He sighs, resting against the door. "What's to say? I'm in love with the super-nerd."

She blinks in surprise. "Seriously?"

He nods solemnly.

"Oh, shit."

"Yes."

"You gotta tell him."

"Well, he's back with Alice, so timing would not be great, but we'll see."

She narrows her eyes in suspicion.

"Margo, I'm mildly hungover and I need to get through brunch and deal with the knowledge that Alice left hickeys on Quentin's chest so, please. Drop it."

She stares at him for a few moments before nodding. "Fine. But this doesn't last long."

"When you inevitably corner me into telling you, make sure you're prepared."

"I'll bring Patrón and some fuzzy blankets," she promises.

"And some chocolate."

"That bad?"

"That sad," he corrects her.

"Shit." She sighs. "Alright, let me get back to my room so I can change. Sorry about the sheets – I owe you."

He waives her off and promptly strips his bed once she leaves him alone.

**

For an impromptu brunch, it turns out well. Of course. As it should.

He doesn't drink very much and he picks at most of his food, but he does eat a plum.

He has to over chew it sometimes since he's half in tears when he eats it, but he misses the taste and if he shuts his eyes every once in a while, he can pretend he's somewhere else, somewhen else.

**

The afternoon is spent in a tipsy haze outside. It's very eighteenth-century Versailles prior to the beheadings.

Eliot is alone on some grass, perfectly at peace with his face toward the sun. He's well on his way to being lulled into a nap when he hears someone come up to him, lie down next to him.

"Q," Eliot surmises.

Quentin laughs a little nervously. "Yeah."

Eliot wonders if Quentin realized answering the door half dressed with hickeys on his chest was a bit hurtful, knowing who was at the door. "No need to apologize," he says.

"Apologize for what?" Quentin asks sharply, challenging.

Eliot then wonders if it's brave to call him out, or just petty. He lets it go and says, "for interrupting my zen. Join me, Coldwater."

He hears Quentin breathe beside him, time blurring together in a pleasant way.

"How are you?" Quentin asks.

Eliot sighs. "Better, I think. Just have a snag I can't untangle."

"What?"

Eliot keeps his eyes closed. "I'm having…a performance issue. Solo and otherwise."

"Oh." Thankfully, it's not awkward, not quite curious. It leaves Eliot room to elaborate.

"I thought it was my body at first. But now I think it's just in my head."

Q hums thoughtfully. "Well…I know when I'm going through…when my depression takes over, my libido kind of goes out the window. So, it's…normal, considering. It'll come back."

Eliot smiles a little, hums. "Okay. Thank you." He reaches out to pat Q's hand, but Quentin twitches away roughly.

"I'm sorry," Quentin says at once. "I didn't mean that." He puts his hand on top of Eliot's and squeezes it.

Eliot's chest is tight and he screws his eyes further shut. "Let's just rest."

He doesn't know if it's a bead of sweat or a tear that falls down his temple, but he wipes it away.

**

After an indiscernible amount of time, Eliot sits up with a wince. He brings a hand to his stomach and looks around, finding his friends in various stages of consciousness and unconsciousness. Once he's accounted for everyone, he reviews the flowers already planted, surprised to find someone working. He distinctly remembers giving everyone a paid day off, so he doesn't understand why this poor person is working – was there a miscommunication?

She moves her head as if she's listening to music, her large earrings flashing in the sun, which makes him smile fondly – their eldest granddaughter used to do that. He continues to watch her work, her focus rarely wandering from the task at hand. Occasionally, she'll look up and smile at the spectacle. At one point, she wipes her forehead with the back of her hand and she unties the scarf around her hair, turning her face against the wind and –

Her hair. Arielle's.

He loses his breath, glancing down at Q briefly, then quickly back at the girl, as if she'd disappear. She's still there working and Q is fast asleep. He wets his bottom lip, contemplating on waking him, but instead he carefully stands up, placing a hand on Q's head for a moment. He goes over to the nearest table with food and drink, taking a scone and a goblet of Fillory's answer to sangria. 

He walks over to the garden, saying hello to everyone he passes by, trying not to cry because that would be embarrassing. By the time he makes it to her, she glances up, her blue eyes are wide.

"All staff were excused from working the grounds today," Eliot says.

"I know," she says, her voice almost monotone in that Kardashian way that he finds kind of hilarious. "But I noticed these were planted incorrectly. So, I figured it would be better to fix it when no one was here."

Eliot smiles. "I bring sustenance."

She takes the scone and goblet. "These won't fuck me up, right?"

He exhales a laugh. "The scone, no. If you drink enough of the sangria, probably."

She nods and takes a generous bite of the scone.

"May I ask for your name?"

She raises an eyebrow. "Pretty sure you can ask whatever you want as a…are you still considered royal?"

"Honestly, I don't know."

She nods thoughtfully. "My name is Iris."

Still keeping the family tradition of naming children after flowers. "May I ask…about your family?"

Her hard-to-read face melts into something softer, her eyes alight. "I don't know much about my mother's side of the family," she starts slowly, "but my dad's side I know goes back a few generations to Arielle, Quentin, and Eliot Coldwaughter. Funnily enough."

He looks up to keep his tears at bay and utterly fails. "Holy shit," he sighs, wanting to laugh and cry at the same time.

"Imagine our shock when we found out that Nana wasn't making shit up," she says, looking misty-eyed herself. "We thought you'd come find us, but I guess time travel really is wonkier than you'd expect."

"So much," Eliot insists. "It happened to us recently – or, well. It felt recently to me. I've been out of commission for a while. Long story." He took back the goblet so he could down a bit of it. "We figured…we stopped it from happening. We thought we just had the memories, but…I figured it didn't make sense. How we've been traveling through Fillory in different times all along, effecting change. I think I knew our family was…out there. I just…" He shakes his head. "Well, I'm a master of compartmentalizing shit. Surprise, surprise."

She reaches out for the goblet and takes a sip, her eyes widening. "You can keep that. I still need to work."

"So…do you know how many generations removed you are from us?" Eliot asks, almost afraid.

"Well…" she starts. "My dad is Arvan, my Nana is Hazel –"

"Is she alive?" Eliot asks at once, his breath hitching in his throat, suddenly dizzy at the possibility of seeing his granddaughter –

"Yes," Iris says, a smile growing on her face. "And I can see where she gets her personality from."

He waves a dismissive hand.

"I'm serious," she says flatly. "I know our bloodline stems from Arielle and Quentin, but you are just important and are seen just as much in generations of us."

Eliot doesn't want to cry again. "Quentin needs to meet you, but I think in a more private setting. Would you mind meeting us in the south gardens tomorrow morning?"

"Sure." She glances past Eliot over to where everyone else is. "I suppose it's not respectful to ask my elders what's going on with their relationship?"

"You're correct, it's not, I'm mentally eighty-something years old and you're a youngin'," he says in a haughty tone. He pauses. "It's mostly my doing." He looks over at where Quentin is. He's still out cold. "I'll see you tomorrow."

She nods. "It's really nice to meet you…do I call you Papa? Grandfather? Pops?"

"Literally never say that to me again."

She grins mischievously.

"You are just like Hazel, it's gross. I love it." He's tempted to kiss the top of her head, but he refrains.

Tomorrow.

**

Eliot almost skips back to the party, finding Fen braiding the hair of a lady from a neighboring region.

"You seem happy," Fen says, eyes not straying from the woman's hair.

"I'm…elated, actually. I'll tell you about it later," Eliot whispers, biting back a _giggle_.

She looks away briefly to smile at him. "Good. I want you happy."

Eliot kisses the crown of her head. "Excellent work." He places a light hand on the woman's shoulder. "You're in _very_ good hands."

"Thank you," Fen says, almost pointedly.

Eliot doesn't need to be told twice – he leaves her and heads back into the castle, where he runs headfirst into Margo with two bottles of tequila, a fuzzy blanket, and a box of truffles.

"Time's up," she says quietly.

He's about to quip something about her not lasting long, but he takes a bottle and the truffles and wordlessly follows her.

**

So, he tells her about his memories of the mosaic. How he remembered them. He paints broad strokes of his life with Quentin, Arielle, Teddy. He laughs when he shares stories like the first time Teddy cursed and when Eliot was the one to give him the 'birds and the bees' talk because Quentin couldn't even get the words out. He rushed through talking about Arielle's failing health, how Q reached such a low point that Eliot stayed awake days at a time, afraid what Q might do in the middle of the night.

He tells her about his grandchildren: two girls and a boy. He tells her that the girl he spoke with in the garden is a descendant of his first grandchild.

He tells her about all this, and how when he and Q both remembered all of it, Eliot rejected him.

By the time he stops talking, he realizes that neither of them has touched the alcohol or the truffles.

"El," Margo says softly.

Eliot smiles fondly. A little sadly. Feeling more like eighty-something in a devastating way; it's going to take Margo decades to really understand and even then, she may not at all.

"I'm almost pissed you didn't have any spawn named after me," she says to lighten the mood.

"Trust me, I wanted to, but Teddy's wife's family had a long-standing tradition of naming women after flowers." He rolls his eyes. 

She grimaces. "Well, they gotta run out of plants at some point, right?"

"I'm sure someone will rebel eventually."

She reaches over to touch his cheek. "You're telling Q today, right?"

"Yeah, we're going to meet her again tomorrow. I want to know everything."

"You're not…I don't know, scared?"

"Scared out of my fucking mind, but…this is the first time in a long time where I've felt really sure of something."

"Well, then," Margo pulls back, a soft smirk on her face. "Guess you better tell him now."

He brings a hand to cover his undoubtedly dorky grin. She covers his hand with hers, lowering it. "Don't you fucking dare hide that beautiful smile. Now _go_."

He grabs her face and kisses her mouth before rushing out to find Q.

He's still where he last left him, but now he's awake, sleepily rubbing his eyes.

"Q, come with me," Eliot says, taking his hand and helping him to his feet.

He breaks into a run across the grass and back into the castle. 

"Eliot!" Q exclaims with a laugh. "What is it?"

Eliot takes him to his bedroom, shutting the doors, placing his hands on Q's shoulders. "I met Hazel's granddaughter," he blurts out, grinning. "She's working on the gardens - her name is Iris and she's so much like Hazel and she has Arielle's hair, and –" Eliot cuts himself off when he sees Q's face. He's pale and his eyes are wide. "Q?"

Q's mouth moves a little, but no noise comes out. 

"She knew about us," Eliot continues softly. "She heard about us being kings. They were confused about why we didn't find them yet, but we didn't know about them until recently, so."

Eliot pauses, giving Q room to say something, but he doesn't. 

"We're meeting her tomorrow morning in the south gardens. She's really excited to meet you. You'll love her."

Q still says nothing - it's like his brain is frozen and he needs to be rebooted. 

"Quentin," Eliot says, louder, squeezing his shoulders. 

"Grandchild?" Q finally whispers hoarsely. 

"Yes. So technically our...great-great-great-grandchild. Our grandchild has a grandchild."

Q swallows, his eyes misty. "What about -"

"Hazel is alive. I don't know about everyone else, but we'll find out together." Eliot drops his hands once he thinks Q won't fall over. "So, tomorrow morning. I'll grab you from your room, okay?"

Q nods.

"Are you okay? I know it's...beyond weird and...very much terrifying, but I mean...it's a little exciting? We sowed roots here, Q," Eliot says, unable to stop smiling. 

Q nods again, distant. "I, uh - I need to go process..."

"Q –"

"I'll see you tomorrow." Q is firm, leaving no room for Eliot to argue, unless Eliot wants his balls ripped off. Eliot's tempted to start a fight for the books, but Q basically runs away and Eliot's not willing to test of his leg will make it through a sprint.

So, Eliot lets him leave and tries not to worry, hoping that Q will be ready for tomorrow.

**

Eliot wakes up happy, singing under his breath as he dresses. He has so many questions - he hopes Hazel's siblings Magnolia and Elton are alive too, but he figures even being able to see just one grandchild is amazing. Besides, there are still the descendants. Last he remembered, Mag was engaged to a very handsome man before he passed, so he'll be able to see what their beautiful genes created.

He knocks a jingle against Q's door, but Q's voice surprises him from behind: "I'm here."

Eliot's face falls a little. Q looks like shit. "Did you sleep at all?" Eliot asks. 

"No."

Eliot opens his mouth to say, maybe he shouldn't meet her yet or they should maybe talk about this more, but Q is already walking toward the south gardens and Eliot has to keep up. 

"Q, it can wait -" Eliot starts as they go outside. 

Iris has her hair pulled back in a braid, her eyes concentrated on the spot where there's supposed to be an intricate F in honor of Fen. 

When she looks over at them, Eliot smiles, looks to Q, who appears a second away from fainting. Or crying. 

"I can't -" Q stutters and fucking bolts. 

"Give me a minute, Iris, he's still in shock," Eliot says, pleading, and runs after him. Jesus, he forgot how fucking fast Q can be. "Q! Fucking stop!" 

Eliot has longer legs, so he catches up to Quentin eventually. They're both out of breath since they're hardly the active people to begin with. He feels a sharp pain shoot up his leg and he moves his weight over to his left one.

"What the fuck, Q?" Eliot questions once he's got his breathing under control. 

" _Why_?" Q demands. "You spend _months_ trying to ignore our life here and now, suddenly you're _invested_?"

"Yes," Eliot says in an exhale.

"You can't do this -"

"Do what -"

"Fucking _manipulate_ me with this – my family –"

"It's my family too."

The snarl on Q's face says otherwise and Eliot feels like he's been slapped. He takes a step back.

Q's face falls into despair. "El, no, I'm –"

"You know, I always feared that. Being forgotten, not counting because I wasn't biologically important to Teddy's creation, but _fuck you_ for trying to validate that fear again."

"You're right, I'm sorry, you know you were –"

"Yeah, I know that. And I'm not letting you take that away from me. Not even when you're hurt." Eliot stands tall and exhales shakily. "Now, I'm going to go back out there and cover for you because she doesn't deserve this. When you're ready then you should meet her, okay?"

Q nods, sniffling. "I'm sorry," he says again. 

Eliot takes a few steps closer to Q, who falls forward a little, resting his forehead against Eliot's collarbone. "I know, Q." He lays a kiss on the top of Q's head. "It's okay."

"It's not. It was fucking shitty of me."

"You technically didn't say anything."

"Yeah, well, I didn't have to." Q sighs, stepping away from Eliot. "Go to her. Tell her I'm sorry for being an asshole and I'll get over myself."

Eliot smiles a little. "I will." He wants to reach out and cup Q's cheek, but he refrains. "Are you going to be okay? I'm sorry for springing this on you, I just –"

"I'll be okay, I promise. Go, seriously. I just...I didn't even begin to unpack this possibility, know?"

"I know."

Eliot brings a hand to Quentin's face, wiping a stray tear from the corner of his eye. He steps back and does his best to mask his pain, but Q's eyes flicker to his leg, mouth twisted in guilt.

"I'm an asshole," Q sighs.

"You're not. It happens. I have good and bad days."

Q nods, but he's frowning.

"I'm going to see Iris. Cheer the fuck up, emo kid," Eliot jokes softly.

Once he sees Q smile, he leaves him.

**

Thankfully, Iris is still there. She's bouncing a little on the balls of her feet, something that Mag used to do when she was restless or anxious.

"I really freaked him out, huh?" Iris says, trying to smile. 

"He's sorry, it's - we've been through a lot this past year. It has nothing to do with you." Eliot offers his hands for her to take. After a moment, she does. He squeezes them gently. "He just needs a little time."

She nods. For once, he actually feels like he's eighty-something again in a good way. 

"So," Eliot starts, "where did you grow up? Where do you live?"

"I live by the ocean. That's where I grew up. Nana always said that she always loved the ocean."

He smiles fondly. "Her favorite stories involved mermaids and pirates. I'm not surprised."

She bites her bottom lip. "I'm going over to my brother's for a while to help him out. He's a little overwhelmed caring for Nana, our dad, and his two children." Her eyes tear up. "His, uh, wife passed away."

"I'm so sorry."

She swallows. "It's been a few months. He's trying his best to be strong, but…well." She smiles a little. "Maybe meeting you will make him a little happy."

"Really?"

"I think it would be very rude if I didn't invite my distant ancestor over."

"Never say that again," he reprimands her with a smile.

"So…yeah? You'll come?"

Eliot looks back at the castle. He doesn't know if Q is watching, or if he's hiding.

"Quentin is more than welcome, of course."

Eliot smiles as if Q is watching from a window, then turns to Iris. "I think he may need more time, but he'll catch up. I would love to go. Your contract ends in a few days, right?"

"Yes, payday is when I plan on leaving."

"Great, I'll arrange transportation."

Iris grins. "Pays to be related to royalty."

"It sure does."

**

Eliot tells Margo that he plans on leaving in a few days. She hugs him tightly and promises that she will take care of logistics. He wants to tell Q his plan, but he waits two days before to do so, giving him time to process.

Except on his search to find Q, he finds Alice instead.

She looks to the side, bites her bottom lip, looks him up and down and _shit_.

"Eliot," she says finally in greeting.

"Hi, Alice."

She bites her lip again. "I don't know what you said to Quentin the other day, but, it really fucked with him. I know you've been through a lot, but so has he. For you, so. Just…be mindful?"

Objectively, he knows she's being kind, she's looking out for Q like he would in her position, but his anger flares hot in his chest at the implication that he doesn't understand. "That's rich coming from you," he says in a low voice. He feels a tremor in his hand.

"What?"

"You didn't seem to care not too long about Quentin's feelings. We saw the way you treated him."

" _God_ , haven't I redeemed myself already?" she exclaims, frustrated. "I apologized, I tried to make it right, which, you're welcome, by the way," she snaps.

"Yes, thank you _so_ much, it's not like I didn't lose a _year_ of my life."

"And I didn't? I may not have been _possessed_ by a god, but I was just as out of my own control. Can you think of _anyone_ but yourself for more than five seconds?"

He winces. "I think we've evolved from the Eliot of season one, don't you think?"

"If that's the case, then why not me too?"

He inhales sharply. Exhales. Nods. "You're right."

She blinks in surprise, as if she didn't expect him to yield.

"For what it's worth – what he's going through right now, what he's feeling, is…" He swallows. "It'll pass. I promise."

The corner of her mouth twitches. "You promised you wouldn't betray me again," she says in a small voice.

He nods. "I did."

She looks away with teary eyes, curling her hair behind her ears. "You love him. Q. I'm not blind," she states, not quite accusatory, but close enough.

He clenches his jaw. "I stand by what I promised on Coronation Island. Don't worry about me." He wets his bottom lip. "Just, uh –"

"Quentin isn't here. He went to New York with Julia. He said he'd be back in a few days," Alice interrupts him.

"Oh, well. I guess I'll miss him. I'm leaving in two days."

"Where are you going?"

He deflects. " _In the end I'll know, but on the way I wonder_."

" _Through descending snow and through the frost and thunder_?" she finishes with a faint smile. "Did Q make you watch _Harold and Maude_ too?"

"Yes," he lies.

(Q described it in detail a few months into their time working in the mosaic, singing every song on the soundtrack extremely poorly. He probably wouldn't recognize the songs if he heard the originals.)

"Good luck, then. I hope you…"

"Get better?" he finishes for her.

"Yeah."

"Thank you."

Alice gives a little wave and walks past him, presumably to the library. Eliot exhales, watching her walk until she turns a corner.

Is there an honorable way to fight for someone when you promised their current significant other you wouldn't betray them? Does it count as a betrayal? He supposes it's something to think on while he's traveling with his great-great-great-granddaughter.

**

Before he leaves, he gives Margo a sealed letter to give to Quentin when he comes back.

"I'll send word when I arrive," he promises.

"You better or I'm hunting you down," she threatens him before hugging him tightly. "Send my love to the family," she murmurs.

"Iris," he says out loud. "Come here. I need you to meet someone extremely important."

Iris comes over, a curious expression on her face.

"This is Margo. She was the very first person I call family."

Margo shoots him a wobbly smile before sticking her hand out. "Nice to meet you."

Iris shakes her hand. "Likewise. For what it's worth, I thought you made a great High King."

"I like her already."

It's probably dangerous for him in the long run to have them know each other, but he's trying not to think too far ahead. Once they're done bonding and plotting to do some future damage that Eliot will not consider, Margo pulls him to the side again and puts an iPod Mini in his hand.

"This is ancient," he comments.

"I know. Josh gave it to me for my journey. Now I'm giving it to you. I added a bunch of shit. Some of it is just to make you happy. Some actually have some meaning, I guess."

"Let me guess...Q?"

"He's such a sucker - 'mixes have to have meaning' bullshit."

Eliot smiles. "Thank you, Margo."

**

The ride is smooth and Iris seems to be content staring out of the window, watching the scenery go by. He sneaks glances at her, now that he has the luxury of time, to search for Quentin's or Arielle's or Teddy's or Hazel's or Mag's or Elton's, but there are very little things besides Arielle's hair. Sure, there's something about the uptick of the corner of her mouth that reminds him of Quentin, or the way her eyelashes curl against her copper skin that remind him of Elton's – his eyes were always the talk of the village for good reason.

"What?" she asks, smiling, blushing a little.

"Just trying to make out your features," he admits.

"Well, I definitely take after my mother, besides the hair. My brother and I both do. My dad used to joke that he barely had to be involved in our creation," she snorts. "My dad used to tell us that we may be lucky enough to meet our great-great-whatever you are-grandpas."

"Is he…"

"He's alive, but his memory is not that great. He thinks I'm barely twelve at this point. He doesn't remember his grandchildren." She sighs. "I'm debating on moving in with them, or moving them to my house. It just breaks my heart to see him like that, and with my mom abandoning him…" she trails off, her voice acidic.

He nods. His only experience with dementia was watching _The Notebook_ obsessively for Ryan Gosling, but he can imagine the heartbreak.

"Dare I ask you about future husband or wife prospects?" he asks, hoping it's a happier topic.

She makes a dismissive noise in the back of her throat. "There's no one yet. I just ended a relationship recently."

"Oh, sorry?"

"It's fine. We were drifting apart. Nothing dramatic." She gives him a pointed look. "Nothing quite like you and Quentin."

"Well, that's what happens when you have gods who were mistakes possessing you and using your body for less than pleasant things."

She raises her eyebrows. "Damn."

"Also, I have a lot of self-loathing that I'm attempting to work through."

She snorts. "Glad to know where the source of _that_ came from."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, you'll see."

**

It only takes a day and a half of traveling by horse, but Iris insists that they need to walk the next few miles because this area never accounted for royalty to swing by, so the terrain is a little too rough for horses and a carriage. Luckily, his body is up to the task today.

Eliot doesn't mind – in fact, he enjoys the smell of the ocean, how clean it feels to inhale, even if he's sure the salty air is doing damage to his hair. Iris seems happy – at peace. It must be nice to love where you came from; a certain comfort that no matter where you go, _this_ will always be home.

Eliot will never have that, obviously, having grown up in a shit hole town, but he remembers feeling something close to it at the mosaic. Visiting Teddy, the grandchildren – coming home was always a comfort.

Once he gets his first view of the ocean, he says, " _Fuck_ – this is some _Poldark_ shit. Where's Aidan Turner lurking?"

"What?"

"It's a television show on earth. Basically – a million shots of beautiful cliffs overlooking the ocean," he explains dismissively, eyes wide as he takes in the view. "Shit."

"Yeah," she agrees. "I grew up with it, but sometimes it just smacks you in the face." She takes his hand. "Come on, Gramps, we're almost there."

He's grateful for her hand because he's incredibly nervous.

There's an old man sitting outside with a baby on his lap and a little girl, no more than three or four is skipping around them, singing a song.

"Hi, Dad," Iris greets, letting go of Eliot's hand to go over to her dad, kissing his cheek.

"Oh!" Arvan exclaims. "Iris. How are you doing, love? Shouldn't you be in school?"

Eliot winces.

"We have the day off, my teacher is sick," Iris is quick to say. "Who's that on your lap?"

"Your brother gave her to me. Isn't she so sweet?"

"Here, let me take her." Iris lifts the baby up and brings her to her chest. "Hi, darling." She looks back to Eliot. "Dad, meet Eliot."

Eliot takes a few steps forward and holds out his hand. Iris' father stares at it, Eliot's face, the clothes. His face breaks into a wide smile. "Didn't I tell you, Iris? He'd come?"

Eliot grins with teary eyes. "It's nice to meet you," he says heartily.

"Auntie, who's this?"

The little girl is now behind him and staring up at him with wide eyes. Her skin is fairer than Iris', but she has her eyes.

"This, Rose, is Eliot, your grandfather," Iris says with a mischievous smirk.

Rose tilts her head to the side. "You're not old."

Eliot shoots Iris a winning grin. "I'm not, you're so smart, Rose."

Rose beams. "Thank you! Do you want to see my doll?"

"I would love to see your doll."

So, Eliot is led by the hand and he fucking forgot how fucking _amazing_ little children can be. And even though the title of 'Grandpa' makes him itch, he remembers quickly how much he adored being a grandpa – he loved spoiling the grandchildren rotten, which always exasperated Teddy.

"You'll understand when you become one," Eliot told Teddy, who was maybe a little bitter about it at the time.

Rose leads him into the house, explaining in that babbling way that children do about getting the doll for her birthday and now _all_ her friends want it and when he passes by a room with a direct view of the water, sees a person with shocking white hair in a low ponytail sitting in a rocking chair. He stops in his place, his heart in his throat. It's not Q, but dear God, it looks like him.

"Come on, Grampa," Rose says, exasperated, taking his hand again.

"Be nice, to Grandpa Arvan, Rose," the person – woman – says without turning around.

"Wrong grandpa," Eliot says, his voice hoarse.

She pauses in her rocking. "How old are you?" she asks.

"Mentally or physically?"

She turns around slowly and Eliot starts crying – full on, body wracking sobs and he's somehow able to hug his darling, beautiful Hazel again.

"This is really weird," Hazel says in between crying herself.

Eliot laughs and cries and laughs.

**

"Wow, you really were handsome," Hazel says, patting Eliot's cheek.

"Hey, I was a silver fox," Eliot argues.

"I know, you had all the grandmas sighing."

They're outside, watching Rose play with her dolls.

"Where's Grandpa Q?" Hazel asks.

Eliot shuts his eyes against the wind. "Do you want to hear the short version or the convoluted long story?"

"I'm old and I have no patience."

"Convoluted, broad strokes version, got it: after Q and I died here, years ago, one of our friends managed to stop us on earth from going back to Fillory in the first place. We thought it didn't happen at all until your grandpa and I were hit with decades' worth of memories. You have to understand that we were just friends when we came to Fillory, so even though we had all these memories of our time here that may or may not have actually happened, I was afraid of fucking it up. So when he asked if I wanted to have another shot, I stupidly said no. yadi-yadi-yada, I end up getting possessed by a fucked up god, I hurt everyone I know in some capacity, and now I'm back, except I'm way more fucked up than I was prior to all of this and Quentin is with someone else."

Hazel stares at him. "What the hell are you _doing_ here? You should be wooing him! Begging for forgiveness! Prostrating yourself. Or something along those lines."

"I would," he says gently, "but I'm trying to get back to some semblance of me." He gets a little shock seeing Hazel this grown up – he keeps expecting to see her at his age right now. "I need to do this first. I can't be having your grandpa put in all the effort."

"Well, maybe it can be a shared effort. That's what a partnership is," she argues.

"And sometimes a partnership involves giving a hundred percent, or eighty, or sixty-five. Or ten percent. You should know by now it's not always going to be even. You hope it evens out when you get to the final count, but sometimes one person has to do a little more work."

She grumbles like she did when she was Rose's age. "You're right."

"Of course I am. I'm your elder."

"I'm older than _you_. I'm ninety-three," she counters.

Eliot brings an arm around her shoulders. "Tell me about your life."

She starts with his death, which is fitting. How devastated she was, how everyone was. Q followed soon after him, only a few months later. She said it was the first instance she witnessed of someone dying of a broken heart.

She met her future husband when she least expected it. She wished they could've met him like how Eliot and Q met Mag's fiancé. It's comforting to learn she lived a rich life, coming to the same conclusion of what the beauty of life is.

But she's also experienced how ugly it could be: a miscarriage, a son going to war and not returning home, another son losing his mind right in front of her. Her husband promising that he wouldn't die first, but he did.

"My grandchildren and great-grandchildren are everything to me," Hazel sighs. "But I'm ready for what's next."

He nods.

"But I'm definitely holding out for Papa Q."

"He'll come, I promise."

"He fucking better or I'm haunting his ass."

Eliot laughs.

**

At some point in the late afternoon when Hazel and Eliot are outside, feet hanging off the edge of a cliff, Iris returns with must be her brother, judging by their identical complexions and textured hair. Although his is a darker brown and he has shadows under his eyes. He's carrying his baby girl, a large hand protective on her back.

"Well, I'll be damned," he says, matter-of-fact, but his eyes are wide.

Hazel gestures to Eliot. "Grandchild, meet my grandpa."

"This is so weird," Iris sighs. "Are we ready to get working on dinner?" She does a poor job of hiding her amusement. "We're going to need to discuss how our great-grandpops is going to be helping out around here."

"You're making it worse," Eliot groans, collapsing onto his back to stare at the pink sky.

It's easy to fall back into working with a Fillorian kitchen. He did forget how much of a danger it was to have a small child running in between his legs while he cooked, but there's some muscle memory - if that's possible. 

The house has a few rooms, just enough to house everyone except Eliot, but Rose is currently sleeping in her father's room – she's been having nightmares about her dad dying too. So he's offered a cot to sleep on the floor of his great-great-whatever-granddaughter's room.

He falls asleep easily to the noise of family.

**

Hazel has a good laugh about Eliot being put to work. She chuckles over words like 'revenge' and 'karma,' to which Eliot has to remind her that he was old first, which just sounds extremely juvenile. It's when she starts humming to the 'Circle of Life' that he leaves her so she doesn't seem him laughing so hard that tears are leaking from his eyes.

(It throws him off whenever someone makes a reference to an Earth thing that was clearly passed down from him or Q – a line from a book, movie, a song, an idiom, but honestly, he finds it cool. Which is kind of lame.)

He writes a letter for Margo, letting her know that he's settled. He draws a map for her detailing where he is, in case she needs to find him. It goes unsaid that it's for Quentin too, when the time is right.

In the meantime, Eliot falls into a pattern of farming, of mending and creating clothes, partially depending on well he feels. Eliot told Quentin almost everything, but Eliot never told Quentin about his thoughts regarding Q's mysterious discipline. At some point when they were older, Eliot suspected what Q's was, but kept it to himself. He could tell Q almost enjoyed the mystery, like it could be something truly outstanding.

(Even though Eliot always thought minor mending could be outstanding.)

"My great-great-great-grandchildren are going to be the best dressed children," he mutters to himself with a mouthful of pins as he rests the fabric against Rose's stock-still frame. She's only quiet because she's sucking on a lollipop.

At one point when Rose is napping on his thigh, he's carefully weaving thread with quick fingers. Seeing Hazel, being in Fillory, has reminded him to be grateful of the lack of pain in places like his hands; arthritis is a _bitch_.

He's soon joined by Iris' brother, Ethan, who breaks the silence with, "it's weird."

He reminds Eliot of Quentin, a little. "It is," Eliot agrees. "How are you doing?"

"Barely holding it together. I appreciate your help."

"That's what family should be for."

Ethan furrows his brow and cocks his head in such a Q fashion that Eliot loses track of thought.

"My family was…horrible. I didn't understand how nice family by blood could be until we had you."

"I'm sorry."

Eliot brings a hand to the back of Ethan's neck. "It'll be…not as hard to move through the world. Eventually. When Quentin gets here, he can probably talk about it better since he survived me and Arielle."

Ethan looks so tired.

"You remind me a lot of Quentin."

Ethan smiles a little. "Hazel takes after you."

Eliot would say he loved all his grandchildren equally, but he always felt a kinship with Hazel. Maybe it's because she was his first grandchild, but he knew it was because it was the first time he felt like he has equal influence in how descendants will be. They may never look like him – maybe one or two will have his eye color or hair texture by chance – but a few of them may just have some aspect of his personality, charm, or means of carrying themselves that are an echo of him.

And it's this truth, this…whatever it is…that gives him hope that maybe he can find his way back, find himself.

**

Eliot sighs, his hands on his hips, facing against the wind as he looks out into the ocean. It's been a long morning and he wants a minute to pretend he's on a television show.

"You really are a dramatic ho."

Eliot gasps a little and turns around to see Q standing a few feet away, a fond smile on his face.

"You're not quite Aidan Turner, but you'll do."

Eliot grins. "I already made a _Poldark_ reference, keep up, Coldwater."

Q shakes his head and drops his bag, walking over so he's standing next to Eliot. "Fuck, this view is amazing."

"I know."

Q turns to look at Eliot. "You look well."

"And you know what, I actually feel it."

"That's great."

"How are you?" Eliot asks.

"I'm okay, actually. Honestly."

"So…is there a possibility we can hug?" Eliot ventures.

Q pauses. "Yeah, okay."

Eliot turns to face him. "I figured the Monster…crossed some boundaries."

Q nods.

"So, just…let me know if I trigger…something."

"Maybe you can just, stay still? At first?"

Eliot doesn't really know what that means, but he stays where he is and Q takes a step closer, bringing his arms around him, his touch light for all of two seconds before he's pressing up against him, his hold like a vice grip. 

"Uh, you can hold me, just…go for it. Don't be…" Q trails off.

Eliot figures it's akin to ripping off a band aid, so he's quick about wrapping his arms around Quentin, exhaling as he holds him close, dropping his head against his temple.

"This is better than the Happy Place," Eliot murmurs. Q's hair is a little greasy from the traveling and he kind of smells a little, and yet, it's beautiful. 

"What's the Happy Place?"

"The Mind Palace the Monster kept me in for months."

Q freezes. 

"Sorry," Eliot says. "We, uh…well. Should I…?" He shakes his head to clear his thoughts. "I'm sorry, I'm channeling you." Eliot reluctantly lets go of Quentin so he can look him in the eyes. "Do we need to establish boundaries about this?"

"About…?"

"The Monster. Talking about it. What it did to you, what it did to me. It's like an obnoxious, putrid green elephant in the room."

"The expression is pink elephant."

"That sounds more enjoyable than putrid green though."

Q nods. "Okay, fine. Uh, probably we should…hash that shit out. Like adults."

"Q, I know we're physically in our twenties, but mentally, we're a little bit older than that."

"I know, fuck." Q sighs. "Okay, so, name a time and place, let's do this."

Eliot really loves him. "How about tomorrow morning? I like to walk along the water when the sun rises."

"Dramatic. Ho," Q insists again, but smiles. "Okay, fine. I get to be Ross."

"Well, if we're following the emotional themes of _Poldark_ , then probably I should be Ross and you be Demelza."

Q tilts his head to the side. "But you…didn't sleep with your former betrothed years into our marriage. And I'm using the term 'sleep' very liberally and, frankly, questionably – actually, no, fuck that, Ross assaulted Elizabeth. Anyway, you…didn't do that."

Eliot really loves him, even though he's a giant nerd. "Okay, I didn't do that, but I did push you away and eroded a foundation of love and support, so. Ross-lite, if you will." He sighs. "Okay, that's enough for an in-depth pop culture reference. Let me give you a tour and directions to the shower."

"Fuck off," Q laughs, pushing him, but Eliot pulls him back in, draping an arm around his shoulders.

**

Eliot gives Q the space to be with their family. He takes a walk and picks some flowers as a centerpiece for the dining table. He composes a letter to Margo in his head, one that would confirm that Q has made it and he looks so good with the backdrop of the ocean and he may be the inspiration Eliot needs to resuscitate his libido –

Eliot stops walking and groans. Nope.

**

By the time Eliot makes it back, Q's eyes are puffy from crying and he's already carrying little Rose on his back. Eliot finds a vase to place his makeshift bouquet and helps Arvan to the table. He gets told again how regal he acts and while he appreciates the compliments, he knows Arvan's deteriorating memory is draining everyone else.

Eliot prepares for a fight in sleeping in Rose's room versus the family room, but Q says, "we can share the room. Besides, with Arvan being the way he is – we don't want to have him potentially tripping over one of us."

Eliot feels stupid for being anxious about this. "You are very pragmatic."

There's not much space in the room, so they're very close to one another, barely a few inches in between their cots.

"We have a beautiful family," Q sighs into the darkness.

"We do."

"Do we know about…?"

The other grandchildren. Eliot assumed they passed since Hazel hasn't brought them up, but he says, "I don't know. We'll find out together." He hears Q shift against his pillow, nodding. "So, what have I missed?"

"Well, your gardens are really beautiful, I mean, we're having people come visit all the time. Fen and Margo and discussing about charging a sliding scale fee to tour the gardens. I suggested they take after the Met and do 'suggested donation,' but they figured rich assholes would still not give anything –"

"Hey, Q?"

"Yeah?"

"While I do care greatly about Whitespire and it warms my heart that my creative genius is being appreciated by the masses…I want to know what I missed with you."

"Oh."

Even though it's dark, Eliot hides his smile into his pillow.

"Well, I've been involved in the charging debate, but was removed from the committee. They did take my idea that whatever we earn from charging the garden viewing should be used to subsidize for housing and food – I found out that some villages up north are really struggling with materials for housing, so we'll probably address that first."

Eliot hums in agreement.

"I'm reading more about my discipline – hey, wait, you don't know this – I finally found out my discipline!" 

"Oh?"

"Minor mendings," Q whispers, excited. "I mean, not super exciting, it's not telekinesis, but –"

"It sounds exciting."

"Stop," Q laughs a little with a smile.

"Tell me about it, then. I want to know."

So, Q goes into a quintessential Quentin Coldwater ramble and Eliot settles in, shutting his eyes as he listens to Q explain his discipline, how his magic works. He admits that for so long, he was told he only shattered things, so there's a certain vindication that comes with knowing that he's inclined to fix things.

"Mmm, I could've told you that," Eliot says sleepily.

"What do you mean?" Q whispers softly.

"I mean, you managed to rally a bunch of fucked up, broken people who should realistically not have anything to do with each other and yet we do because of you. And maybe we're all better for it."

When Q doesn't say anything, Eliot opens his eyes and Q staring at him, a little slack jawed and his eyes glassy. 

"I know I'm better for it," Eliot ventures, his voice barely audible to his own ears.

Q smiles faintly.

Even though Q can ramble, there are times he can be so overwhelmed that he can't bring himself to speak, so Eliot says, "Goodnight, Q."

"G'night, El."

**

Eliot takes his time reaching consciousness, but once he does, he immediately registers how _bright_ it is. He lifts a hand slowly above his head to get his pocket watch and his eyes bug out of his head.

"Holy shit," he croaks, sitting up.

"Wha – " Q groans.

"It's fine, sweetheart, go back to sleep," Eliot says quickly, dropping a hand on top of Q's head. 

He slept in until almost eleven in the morning.

He hasn't done that without physically feeling like dying since…fuck, a long fucking time.

Q groans and then quiets.

Eliot rubs his eyes and runs a hand through his hair before quietly getting out of his cot to the kitchen where, of course, everyone is sitting.

"Good morning, Mary Sunshine," Hazel says, throwing back the phrase he used to greet everyone with years ago.

"Don't start," Eliot says in a fierce whisper. "Why didn't anyone drag me out of bed?"

"Because you've been waking up at the crack of dawn every day since you got here and you are the last go to bed. You needed the sleep," Hazel states. "Work can wait for tomorrow. Spend time with your husband."

He hates how he flushes. "He's not –" He exhales sharply, something between a smile and a grimace twisting his mouth. "Thank you," he grits out.

Hazel takes too much joy in reversing their interactions. "You're welcome, Grandpa."

**

Q joins them after Eliot has taken his first bite of Fillory's equivalent to oatmeal and drinking half of what Eliot desperately wishes is coffee, but isn't.

"I brought coffee with me," Q says in lieu of a greeting. His voice is rough and he's rubbing an eye with the heel of his hand.

"Oh, thank God," Eliot exclaims. "That's the next thing we need to address in Fillory."

"If we can figure out champagne, we can figure out coffee."

"That's the spirit."

The coffee, unfortunately, is instant, but it still tastes better with milk and sugar than whatever he was drinking before. Once Q and Eliot have finished, Eliot leads Q along a pathway to town. Eliot keeps the pace slow since his stomach aches.

"Alright, who's going first?" Eliot asks.

"Uh, well, you've technically gone months without speaking much, so it's only fair?" Q questions more so than offers.

"That's true, you've been without my presence for too long," Eliot half-jokes before stopping. "Wait, much – I did get through? Right?"

Q nods. "Yeah, you did." The corner of his mouth twitches. "Peaches and plums, motherfucker."

" _Yeah_ , Q. Peaches and plums," Eliot reiterates.

Q stops walking, screws his eyes shut as if he got hit with a sudden migraine. "Mother _fucker_."

Eliot sighs and rubs the spot between Q's shoulder blades. "Come on, Coldwater. Walk with me. I want to tell you more things and this time be a lot more direct."

He tells Q about sifting through the Monster's repressed memories. He tells him that maybe, just fucking maybe, he understood for a single second what Alice's angst was about – even though the Monster behaved like a child, he had the knowledge of so many universes, unprocessed.

He tells Q that his senses are still not a hundred percent back to normal. His senses get crossed so he'll taste car honks when he eats something with lemon in it, he feels that sense of clean he gets when he uses a makeup remover on his face when he stares at the ocean sometimes. It's really weird most of the time, but sometimes it kind of works. Like he feels like he's wrapped in a warm blanket when he drinks tea. 

He tells Q that his imagining of Q kept him sane.

He tells Q that he hates that he has to overthink how he touches him. He wants to be mindful, but it's not fair, _it was my body first_.

"I know," Q sighs. "I feel like a fucking idiot, I mean, my mind spent fifty years with you. That should trump a few measly months, but…" he sighs again. "Hopefully being with you will fix that." His stomach rumbles. "Lunch break?"

"Yes, then it's your turn."

They're not too far from the village proper, so they buy what looks and tastes like rice balls – _arancini_ – Q tells Eliot, sharing a story of his early teen years in which Julia and James and himself went to the Festival of San Gennaro in Little Italy, eating so much that Q didn't have pizza for over a year, the smell alone making him nauseous. Julia and James apparently had their first kiss there, but Q was too busy trying to make room for _zeppole_. 

"It's fried dough with powdered sugar," Q explains.

"I always avoided the parades," Eliot says, promptly ignoring Q's gaping expression. "But I'll go to this one." He refrains from saying he'd happily kiss him there too.

Eliot eats slowly and not a lot. He thinks it's mostly mental, but he'd rather not push it anyway. Q happily takes the last of Eliot's food.

Q tells Eliot a few things.

Q tells him that he basically stopped sleeping – living off naps at weird hours and only occasionally being knocked out by crushed Ambien in his coffee, courtesy of Julia and Margo. 

Q tells him of the fucking nightmares. The usual traumatic bullshit that comes with the territory when you and loved ones are suffering.

Q tells him of the adventure with the dragon egg, how they all had weird hangovers and had to sleep with store bought eggs. Eliot laughs a lot.

Q tells him that he felt painstakingly hollowed out over the months, that getting back with Alice felt like he found some of himself again. Eliot shares that's how he feels being with their family. 

"Yeah, but I was just rehashing shit. You're - we're discovering something new."

"There's nothing new about my ability to make an outfit work," Eliot jokes, referencing Rose, who shouldn't look as cute as she does in some of her ensembles. 

Q smiles fondly "No, but we get to see what we sowed, as you said. We planted seeds so long ago and now we can see how they flowered."

"That's growth."

"It is. That's what we want, right?"

"Yeah." Eliot pauses. "You said was – past tense. With Alice," he says, pausing in weird places so his words come out choppy.

Q grimaces. "Yeah, uh. After I came back from New York with Jules, I…told Alice. About Fillory. Just broad strokes."

Eliot nods. "And…what did she say?"

Q huffs a laugh. "She said, 'that makes so much fucking sense in hindsight,' and 'maybe we went about reconciling incorrectly.'"

"What?"

"She said we should've maybe shaken hands or hugged, not kissed. It was a mistake…attempting to get back together, or whatever the fuck we were doing." Q sighs.

"Okay…why do I get the feeling that you didn't want me to know this for a while?" Eliot questions lightly.

Q sighs again. "I just…"

Eliot tilts his face to the sun, its warmth masking the heat he feels creeping to his cheeks. "You didn't want to get my hopes up," he gathers.

"I still need time," Q insists.

"I probably do too." Except Eliot isn't as sure as Q. "But remember…Elliot Yamin."

Q laughs. "God, can you think of another song?"

"I don't know – you're the one with the massive emo music collection."

"It's not _emo_ –"

"I think Echo and the Bunnymen and The Smiths and Death Cab for Cutie are considered _emo_ –"

They argue about it for a while.

( _I need you so much closer, so come on, so come on…_ Eliot repeats over and over in his head.)

Q tells him that he picked up Eliot's stupid smoking habit and hates it, but he thinks it was the best comfort he had. Now he's just hoping to kick it. 

Q thanks him for inspiring him to get help. He admits that he had a low moment in the mirror world; there was suicidal ideation, thought, plan, intent. He was just so tired. 

Eliot has an arm around Q's shoulders and they find a place to sit on the cliff, feet dangling over the edge. Q takes off his shoes and Eliot does the same. 

And then they spend a while not talking and just enjoying their presences.

**

Iris elbows Eliot in the kitchen and wiggles her eyebrows.

Q saves him by saying, "Don't you need to take in the laundry since it's going to rain?"

"Shit!" She runs out.

Q and Eliot wordlessly high-five each other.

**

They make themselves useful.

Q utilizes his newly found discipline and fixes every little broken thing in the house, then travels to town and offers his services for goods – food, money, fabric. Eliot insists on the fabric for the townsperson with a botched roof that required some of Eliot's telekinesis to assist in Q's minor mending.

"Still plan on overdressing everyone at the summer solstice?" Q asks as he works on the shingles now that Eliot's work of lifting is done.

"Of course. I have a reputation to reimagine," Eliot responds loftily. "Besides, sometimes the clothes irritate the shit out of me." He shifts under his shirt.

"How so?"

"Sometimes it's so scratchy that it hurts, or it's too soft and it tickles. I don't know. Sense things."

Q nods, the corner of his mouth twitching in triumph once the roof is done. "Is it just Fillory clothes?"

"Haven't thought about it, really. When I was…well. At first, I was just feeling like such shit, I didn't think about what I was wearing. I don't know."

"Fillory clothes are new to us."

"To us?"

"Okay, I guess not us."

"I was told I wore _novelty shirts_ ," Eliot laments.

Q grins. "Yeah, I thought about taking pictures of them for you when we saved you."

"I think I would've rather taken another axe to my body than have photographic evidence of my body wearing any of that."

"That's why I only thought about it."

Eliot smiles at him. Q flushes and looks down, then meets his gaze. 

Eliot vaguely recalls this dance and laughs. He doesn't know if Q is on his wavelength, but he laughs a little self consciously.

**

One evening, Iris comes to Eliot and wordlessly hands over a piece of crumpled, soft parchment. Her face is pale.

It's a brief letter signed by Arvan that was most likely misplaced in a stack of bowls in the back of a cupboard. A request for euthanasia, essentially. 

"He wrote this when he was sound still," she says quietly. 

He swallows thickly and nods.

He uses his cane to make his way outside, where Q and Rose are sitting outside weaving flower crowns. He stops in his tracks and Q lifts his head to look at Eliot, smiling. The smile fades when Eliot nods his head in a gesture to come over. 

Q murmurs something to Rose and gets to his feet, jogging over to him. "What's wrong?"

"We found my dad's final will and testament."

Q purses his mouth. He's resigned. "Okay."

The conversation between Iris, Ethan, Hazel, Q, and Eliot doesn't last longer than a minute. There's silence and then Hazel stating quietly that she'll honor his will. 

Q and Eliot help Hazel brew the poison, but Hazel is the one who presents it to Arvan as medicine. 

Eliot has to hide his face in Q's hair in a weak moment, but they stay in the room with him as he gets sleepier. She hums a lullaby as she sits beside him, combing fingers through his hair. 

He smiles at her as he drifts and then. He's gone. 

Q is holding onto Eliot tightly, an arm around Eliot's waist and his hand over his abdomen, as if reassuring himself with every inhale and exhale. Eliot's chest hurts as his heart thumps against his rib cage. Hazel finally looks over at them with dry eyes, a peaceful half-smile on her face. 

"Thank you," she says. 

Q nods and presses closer. "We'll tell the children," Eliot says. 

Q is the one who says the words. Iris bursts out crying, but she smiles at one point because she knows this was the right choice. 

They cremate his body and Hazel carries the urn with his ashes like a baby. "We're taking him to the cemetery where the rest of the family is."

Q opens his mouth, closes it, looks to Eliot, who shrugs helplessly. 

(When they found out Mag and Elton passed a few years ago, it was a sucker-punch to the stomach, even though they suspected it.) 

"Yes, everyone is there," Hazel states. "It'll take a day."

"I've lived here for fifty years and was a superfan before that and yet I'm still surprised by the goddamn geography," Q mutters. 

It's a family pilgrimage: Hazel leading the charge with Iris a step behind, her brother holding his Rose's hand as she waddles along, his youngest daughter strapped to his chest with cloth; Q is singing under his breath, jumping dramatically from one rock to the next and Eliot is carrying the back, twirling his cane. He can only imagine the wide shot for this scene - so cinematic.

The cemetery actually looks like a cemetery now - when Q and Eliot buried Arielle, it was just an empty bit of land with a pretty willow-like tree. Now, there's a small fence and more graves. Eliot follows Q's gaze to the back, where Arielle is buried. And probably - he has to take a long, steady breath - _them_.

Hazel grabs a shovel that's hidden in the tree, but Q is quick to take it from her, kindly offering to do the honors, but Hazel takes it back, arguing that she can shovel _a little_.

(Eliot maybe does a little magic to loosen the earth to make it easier for Hazel.)

They say a few words. Q cries the entire time. Eliot, well. He keeps an arm around Q's waist. He holds Rose's hand. He encourages her to say goodbye, even though her understanding of death isn't fully developed yet.

"Are we getting a headstone made?" Eliot asks.

Iris nods. "A year later we come back and put it in."

"I always like that tradition," Q comments quietly.

Eliot looks over to Arielle's grave again.

"Just so you know - your headstones are still there," Iris says, following Eliot's gaze.

"Well, that's not a mindfuck."

Q walks forward and wordlessly grabs Eliot's hand, leading them through their various extended family members to Arielle's grave. Q bursts out a sob seeing Teddy's and Lily's graves.

Eliot squeezes his hand tightly. "They lived full lives."

"I know."

Eliot slowly sits down and stretches out his bad leg. Q follows suit. "Hi, Ari," Q says quietly. 

Eliot listens to Q talk and talk, filling in their lives after being saved by Margo from entering the clock (his brow furrows at the logistics like it always does and he shakes his head to force himself from thinking about it). By the time Q is done, Eliot doesn't have much to add except, _I love you, I miss you._

Eliot looks beyond the cemetery, to the path that he knows in an hour or so will lead home. 

He hears the jingle of Iris' earrings behind him. 

"It's not there. Well, the foundation is still there, but the wood was taken, plants...there's not much left."

"I would like to see it anyway," Eliot states, getting to his feet. 

Q beats him to it and helps him with both hands. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, even if I have to fucking crawl."

Q bites his bottom lip and exhales through his nose. "Don't wait for us - we may be an extra day."

Iris raises an eyebrow. "Really? You're going to rough it?" she asks, her attention fully on Eliot. 

"You don't know how I grew up, darling," he reminds her. "It's Q that struggles."

Q opens his mouth to argue then shrugs in defeat. 

So, they part ways. The journey is slow and Eliot ends up relying heavily on his cane by the time they see the clearing. Even though they were warned, it's still a sharp pain to the heart to see everything gone. 

Eliot doesn't stop moving until he walks to the house, coming in where the front door used to be. He could shut his eyes and pretend it's all there. Where their bed was, he gets to the floor and lies down, staring up at the sky. He hears Q do the same, feels his arm brush against his. 

"Do you remember how I talked about _Donnie Darko_?" Q asks at one point.

Eliot shifts through memories of this life, memories of Fillory, and shakes his head.

"It stars Jake Gyllenhaal when he was a baby."

"Oh, vaguely now. About time travel, right? In the eighties?"

Q snorts in amusement. "Yeah, that. Did I ever tell you about this one scene that always stuck with me?"

Eliot shakes his head.

"Okay, well, this really old lady in the movie whispers something in Donnie Darko's ear in the beginning of the movie and you end up finding out that she said, 'every living creature on earth dies alone.'"

Eliot blinks. "Well, that's…incredibly dark."

"I just remember this like, shook me as a kid, like. It didn't matter if I was married or had a partner or had a million friends and family – in the end, when I died, I was just gonna be alone. I didn't know if I found it, like…extremely fucked up and sad, or…I don't know. Comforting, almost. Like, if I didn't find a partner for life, or if I didn't have many friends or whatever, it wouldn't matter in the end. I would experience the same kind of death as someone who had everything."

Eliot mules it over in his head and smiles sadly.

Q rolls his head to stare at him "You find it sad," Q gathers.

"We may die alone, or go through the experience of leaving life behind, but I liked that you were within arm's reach," Eliot explains. "Maybe that's right, we all technically die alone. But even if that experience is ultimately solitary…you can still spend every second until the last one with someone, which I think is okay."

Q has tears in his eyes. "I hated that you went first," he admits.

"I was happy I went first," Eliot admits in turn. "I've never been as strong as you."

"You say that, but you always seem to underestimate how strong you really are – you took care of Teddy after Arielle died and I could barely get through a day without sobbing or getting out of bed. You were the one who talked to Teddy about sex because I couldn't get out of my own way. You helped all those families in the village with their farming even though I know it triggered you to do it. You were the first to hold Hazel when she was born, even though healers weren't sure she'd survive. You took care of me when I was at my lowest. You built yourself from _nothing_ and became the person _you_ wanted to be. You are so fucking strong and it drives me absolutely insane that you can't recognize that."

Eliot is a little embarrassed for being called out, a little teary-eyed, and he is definitely blushing. 

Q smiles and brings a hand to Eliot's face. "El, you gotta stop putting yourself down. I appreciate that you admire me for being…brave or strong. But I admire you for the same thing, okay?"

Eliot opens his mouth to question him, but he can't bring himself to do it. He nods.

Q smiles brightly. 

"Can we just lay here for a while?"

"And just forget the world?" Q teases. 

Eliot swallows. _I don't quite know how to say how I feel_ , he thinks a little desperately. He reaches for Q's hand and takes it. "Yes."

**

When they arrive back, fingers laced, the ocean breeze a cool relief from the increasing heat of incoming summer, Eliot feels like he and Q are close to being on the same page.

Close enough that when they clean their room, pushing their cots together to sweep the floor, Q doesn't bother separating their beds when he brings them back to their original spots. 

Eliot kisses the crown of Q's head before falling asleep on their respective sides of their makeshift bed. That made him suffer acutely - not having Q to steady him before falling asleep, waking up to him. 

Which, well.

Eliot sleepily shifts closer to Q, his nose brushing against the back of his neck. He presses his chest into Q's back, his arm tightening his hold around Q's body. He hums when Q moves, when his cock hardens against Q's lower back. 

It's still touch and go with his body - feeling good enough, feeling various degrees of pain in his leg and stomach, developing minor calluses from using a cane semi-regularly - so it's been an embarrassingly long time since he's felt arousal -

Eliot is fully hard and he bites back a whine when Q freezes against him. 

"El?" Q asks, voice low and El wants to move, to come, he hasn't come in months and he hasn't been this hard since before being possessed and - 

"Sorry," Eliot says, sliding his hand from Q's abdomen to his hip and off him. He rolls onto his back and sits up with a wince, bringing his knees up to hide his arousal. "Well, at least I know it still works," he tries to joke, curling his fingers through his hair to avoid touching himself. 

"I can leave," Q offers. 

"No, it's fine."

"Why not? You're hard now and you can finally have an orgasm."

"Not like this."

"I don't understand - I thought it wasn't about having sex."

"It isn't," Eliot says sharply. "I only got hard because it's you, Q. And that's not fair to you or to me. It's not about sex, it's about me being able to make myself feel good without anyone else." He exhales and maybe is a little petulant when he adds, "I want to be able to do it all myself."

Q swallows. "Okay. Sorry."

Now Eliot is completely soft. "It's okay. I'm sorry too."

"Not even a little assistance? Apparently there are oysters that actually are aphrodisiacs -"

"I don't need Fillory's viagra. I'm a healthy young male adult, I should be fine."

"Okay, I'm just saying maybe you need like a boost for the first time."

Eliot smiles at him and stretches out his legs. "I love you for trying to help, but this is honestly an embarrassing conversation to have with you."

"Why? We've had mishaps before."

"Not when we were young," Eliot points out. 

"Yeah, but, it's us. And I love you. I don't like to see you this way."

"I appreciate that." Eliot feels okay enough to pat Q's chest, over his heart. 

Q takes Eliot's hand and brings it to his mouth to kiss before letting go. "I have to go to Sal's house - apparently all their good dishware shattered two days ago. It'll probably take me a while since apparently half of it is dust."

"How did that happen?"

"Honestly, I don't want to know."

Q lifts his blanket, pauses, then turns bright red. Eliot cuts him some slack and gets up first. "Do you want fruit in your oatmeal-equivalent or just honey and sugar?"

"All of it, please."

Eliot forces himself not to look back, even though he really, really wants to do so.

**

"Are you sticking around for the summer solstice? The village does a festival," Iris asks when she and Eliot are planting seeds for melons and eggplants.

"That would be nice."

"Yeah, maybe you and Q can get high and _reconnect_."

Eliot gives her a look. "Honestly, you're terrible."

Iris grins. "Come on - I thought you would've reconciled by now."

"We're in the process of reconciling. There's no rush. We have time." Suddenly, he laughs. "We have time," he repeats, smiling widely. 

Iris' grin softens. "Yeah."

**

The summer solstice is three weeks away and the village basically goes HAM for it. Eliot's contribution is making accessories and clothing to be worn by the family and cooking something delicious.

In the meantime, Eliot recovers more. His leg has stopped hurting nearly as much as did, even when he's on his feet all day. He's also gaining more of his appetite back for food and. Well. Other things, he thinks.

Especially now, watching Q weed the garden without a shirt. 

Now that Q is eating properly and doing manual labor on the regular, he's developing some nice deltoids and biceps and obliques and he's tanning well -

Eliot swallows and stands up, heading back into the house for a break from the sun.

Everyone is busy today: Iris and Q are on the property, Ethan and his children are in the village for a final day of school and Hazel is in the village playing some equivalent of bridge. 

He catches sight of Q stretching and he goes to their now shared room, taking care to shut the door before lying on the bed and shutting his eyes. 

He thinks about times having sex with Q - so many he's naturally forgotten a lot, but some stick in his mind. Their first time - shaky and unsure and laughs and needy gasps. There's a time with Q and Arielle where Eliot finally understood why the French call orgasms a "little death."

And he remembers the first time Eliot and Q had sex after Arielle had passed. They cried a lot. 

He remembers Q taking "orgasm denial" and running with it, him touching him everywhere but where he wanted, fingering him with his lips on his hip bone, his cock brushing Q's cheek -

Eliot sides a hand down his stomach, under his pants and takes himself in hand, working slowly as he remembers Q kissing the head of his cock, down his shaft, then -

Eliot rolls his hips, fucking into his hand, the memory of Q's mouth taking all of him making him fully hard. Sometimes he forgets that his body is capable of some elegant movement these days.

His memory shifts and now he remembers taking Q apart, fingers slowly fucking him. He loved seeing Q out of his own head, no anxiety, no overthinking, just Q's pants and moans and 'yes, El, please, _fuck_ –'

Eliot forces himself to be quiet when he feels his balls tighten, so close to the edge when he does come, it's sudden and fierce and he makes some sort of noise in the back of his throat that he doesn't even care how it sounds because this orgasm lasts _forever_ and he laughs a little, stretching his limbs as he rides it out. 

Once he catches his breath, he grimaces at the mess. He loves having a dick, but he's always envied Margo for the ability to be discreet and relatively clean when masturbating. 

He changes into shorts, rinses off his pants, and grabs a plum before heading back outside with a skip in his step. 

"Where are you going?" Q asks when he passes him. 

"Lunch break!" Eliot sings, heading down the path that leads to the beach. 

He's halfway through his plum, resting on his back, humming "You Make My Dreams Come True," since that song will now always be associated with post-orgasms, when part of the sun gets blocked by Q's frame.

"You look like you just got laid," Q tuts. 

Eliot can't stop smiling. "I'll never take an orgasm for granted again."

Q laughs as he gets down on the sand. "Okay, El."

Eliot sighs happily and stretches out his arms. 

"I'm happy for you," Q adds, more serious. 

"Thank you."

Eliot hums a little to himself and rolls his head to lazy glance over at Q who is. Well. Staring a little. In that way that was a little confusing in their first year at the mosaic, when Eliot wasn't sure what was going through Q's head. 

Eliot reaches over with a finger and touches the tip of Q's nose. Q smiles, dimples emerging and it would really be nice to kiss him. 

"Hey," Q says. 

"Hey."

Q shuts his eyes and turns his face to the sky. "This is hard."

"What?"

"It's just, you know you look amazing - the shirt, the hair, your tan, and. It just seems so easy."

Eliot smiles, tries not to laugh. "I'm here, baby."

"Stop," Q says with no heat. "I guess now I'm scared. And yes, I understand the irony."

"What are you scared about?"

"You tell me - that's what you worried about immediately, right?"

"Well, it was more about my inability to accept true happiness in my life, but...I was concerned that we only worked because of our circumstances. Only people from earth who truly understood each other on that level. No life or death situations, or not like what we've been dealing with. No social media."

"Well, I've been forgetting my phone for days at a time since we remembered the quest."

"Me too," Eliot admits. "Not that we can even use them here, but I didn't bring my phone to Fillory. Actually, I don't even know where it is. The monster probably chucked it."

"El."

"Hmmm?"

"How are you sure now?"

"How were you sure then?"

"I love you."

" _All you need is love, love..._ " Eliot trails off. He makes sure Q is looking directly at him. "I love you. As in, peaches and plums, motherfucker, I want to take the concept and fucking run with it again."

Q's eyes are wide and glassy and Eliot really wants to kiss him. 

"Yeah," Q says says, voice hoarse. 

"Yeah?"

Q nods. 

Eliot grins and tilts his face toward the sun. "Best day _ever._ And not just because I gave myself a great orgasm."

Q snorts. "Just."

"I'd take this over that any day," Eliot says seriously. "I can make you a mix if you want. Or verbally relay it since we don't have access to technology here."

"I'm _very_ curious as to what _you'd_ put on a mix."

"It would borrow a lot from you and Margo," Eliot admits. 

"Tell me."

"'Transatlanticism,'" Eliot starts, which makes Q scoff.

"You stole that from me."

"So?"

"Okay, fine, what else?"

"Let's see…'It's Not Living if it's Not With You,' by that band that never makes sense. I only know the chorus."

"The 1975," Q supplies. "Nice one. What else?"

"'Miss You' by Aaliyah. From Margo's collection."

"Which song is that?"

" _'Cause it's been too long and I'm lost without you, what am I gonna do? Said I been needin' you, wantin' you…_ " Eliot sings and Q's face lights up in recognition.

"Oh yeah, I remember." He sighs. "God, you know how you think someone is so old at one point in your life and you realize they really weren't? That was Aaliyah."

"Twenty-two right?" Eliot guesses.

Q nods. "Yeah." His eyes suddenly fill with tears and he sniffles. "I wanted to end my life at twenty-four."

Eliot inhales sharply. "But you didn't."

"I didn't."

"You didn't."

Q breathes heavily. "Sometimes," he starts, trying to catch his breath. "I think about it, and I just, I just -"

"I know."

"I think how I could've fucked everything up. And I get scared that I got that _low_ –"

Eliot fucking _hates_ crying, but he's close to it when it takes Q's head between his hands. "Q," Eliot says, keeping his voice as steady as he can. "Match my breathing."

He's only had to do this a few times, really around the time Arielle was sick, after she passed. But Q responds well to being directed, immediately following Eliot's timed inhales and exhales. Eliot only stops once Q's breaths even out, when he doesn't have to follow Eliot.

"I think I only survived as long as I did in Fillory because I always had you," Q admits quietly. 

Eliot can't stop tears falling down his face. "Right back at ya, Coldwater."

Q wipes Eliot's face dry with his fingertips. "We're so fucked up," he says with a laugh.

"I know. But I think we're going to be okay anyway."

Q smiles in agreement.

**

They eventually go back to work. There's a point where they're working side-by-side and there's a natural moment where Eliot leans in and Q meets him halfway for a brief kiss, hands intertwining in the dirt below them.

When Eliot was trapped, he imagined their reunion would cumulate with a grand kiss, and given the location, it could've been very pretty. But when he's painstakingly cleaning his nails before dinner, he can't stop smiling out of just, pure fucking contentment.

And sure, today is a good day, maybe even a great, excellent day. And tomorrow might be the same and a few days after that. But Eliot expects at one point they'll stumble, it's what always happens. It happened before, but he's confident they'll be alright - the sun always comes out, etc. 

Such a cloyingly optimistic cliché, but it's relatively easy to believe it when Q smiles at him, so, fuck it.

Quentin Coldwater is going to be (generally) happy (when he can be), Eliot Waugh is going to be (generally) happy (when he can be), and together, they're going to be generally happy when they can be.

And that's all they can guarantee.


End file.
